Empire - 03 - Mistress Of The Empire

by Raymond E. Feist

  Motecha pressed forward, leaning across the railing in ferocious contention. Mara looked back at him in contempt. She addressed him alone, but her words carried to the farthest reaches of the crowded hall. 'You Black Robes have no right to destroy that which is not pleasing to you. The gods did not gift you with magical talent so that you could take lives at whim.'

  The High Priest of Juran banged his white-striped staff on the floor. 'The Good Servant speaks truth.'

  Another Black Robe, lately arrived with the last contingent from the City of Magicians pushed through the ranks of his brethren to join Motecha. Tapek shed the inhibition instilled by his recent disgrace. His hair was pushed back, and his cheeks inflamed in passionate repudiation. 'You seek to strip us of ancient rights!'

  'Power is used at the discretion of those who hold it,' the Lady returned, unafraid, although she stood but an arm's reach away. 'You should understand that above all others, magician. Your colleagues have been poor stewards, setting themselves up in arrogance, usurping the judgment that is the rightful province of heaven. With your attempt at my execution stayed — no, canceled! — by the power of the gods, today it is I who have the power.'

  The other magicians exchanged unsettled glances, but none had words to add. Their magic had been negated, rendered powerless over this woman who had handed them a failure they were ill prepared to reverse. They had no precept to fall back on; no point around which to rally.

  Only Hochopepa's gaze remained upon Mara. 'You mentioned a choice?'

  Had the circumstances been of less import, and the chamber of audience's occupants been one whit less tense, Mara might have smiled at the stout magician's sharpness. 'Yes, Great One, a choice,' she announced loudly. 'For centuries your Assembly has enjoyed authority without responsibilities. You Black Robes have done as you pleased for "the Good of the Empire," no matter how whimsical, perverse, or destructive the act may have been.' Unmentioned behind her words were the memory of two young children, slaughtered by their Minwanabi father as a consequence of the disgrace forced upon him by Great Ones. Although Tasaio had been an enemy, Mara yet found the murder of his heirs abhorrent, a tragedy the more unforgivable because it might have been prevented by the very Assembly that had condemned the father. Sharply she concluded, 'Since our community of magicians has shown little inclination to self-discipline, now comes an accounting. You may do as I have bid, and be about your own affairs in your city of fearful, inward-looking men — the gods have mercy upon you — or you may take the only other course that will avert unbridled war.'

  Hochopepa's round face furrowed in distaste, and he tapped one foot uncomfortably. 'I suspect what that may be.'

  'Do you?' Mara withdrew an ornate dagger from her robe sash and reversed it, pointing it toward her breast. 'The gods may have declared it is not my time to die. But I can still exercise my free will as Lady of the Acoma. If you choose, I can take my own life, now, in expiation for breaking your stated edict. If I do this, Justin shall abdicate, and return home as Lord of the Acoma. Jehilia, his wife, will reign, and her husband will be consort only, taking vows never to raise his hand against you, or any other Black Robe.' Mara's eyes narrowed as she delivered her final line, and the blade in her hand never quivered. 'But then you must rule.'

  Hochopepa actually grinned. Shimone and Akani nodded, while Tapek appeared only befuddled. 'Lady, what are you saying?' the redheaded magician asked.

  'You only have the power to destroy, to wage war, or oppose,' declared Mara. 'My allies shall not resist. Before sundown, if you so command, I can honorably end my life by the blade.' Her glance swept the hall, pausing only briefly to review the assorted nobles who strained to catch every word, who even yet hoped of catching some mis-step by which they could advance themselves over their neighbors. Her blade might be plunged home, and the Game of the Council resume as if she had never lived; as if the dreams of a murdered Emperor and a barbarian slave had never started to precipitate change. The moment was at hand to decide the future. The priests waited upon their gods, and prayed for fate to favor them. Focusing on Motecha and Tapek in particular, Mara delivered her summary. 'Oh, you may find another willing to play Emperor or Warlord for a time. The Omechan would fall over themselves for the honor, never doubt — until an ambitious neighbor or rival decides it is time to upset the succession.

  'But consider this: the illusion is ended. Men now know that the Assembly can be opposed. The temples will not be content to be relegated to a secondary role. Be assured that the last act of the Emperor Justin will be to emancipate the cho-ja, so that they may again use magic to raise their glass cities in the sun. Lacking willing soldiers, how will you magicians keep order? How will you stop the bickering and power plays between Lords to whom tradition has allocated the trappings of honor? The Game of the Council is a dead end, but our Ruling Lords for the most part are too contentious or too greedy to create a new order. Are you magicians prepared to put on armor and pick up a sword? Tapek? Sevean? Motecha?'

  The confounded expressions upon the faces of the three so named were comical. Never had they considered the prospect of dirtying their hands in battle! And yet, with their weaknesses exposed, they recognised that magic by itself would no longer command awe. Others as bold as Mara would start uprisings, and the Assembly would be pressured by politics and circumstance to take sides. They would have no choice but to absent themselves from scholarly study to manage the mechanics of governance.

  To a body accustomed to acting at the whim of the individual, the prospect was distastefully daunting.

  Motecha looked distressed. Sevean edged unobtrusively behind Shimone, while Tapek masked dismay behind bluster. 'We are not a council of Lords, given to haggling over trivia! Our calling is loftier than mandating the punishment of warring Houses!'

  Hochopepa actually laughed.

  Mara gave a demure bow. Still the blade remained in her hand, unswervingly pointed toward her breast. Her eyes were stony. 'Those are your choices, Great One. Either administrate this Empire or cease interfering with those of us who must.'

  In the face of his colleagues' dumbfounded stillness, Hochopepa waved a weary arm. 'It is over.'

  Tapek yet looked ready to argue, but Akani intervened. 'I agree. The Assembly as a body will no more wish to govern the Empire than we have in the past. Gods above, our debates have extended for days in deciding a single issue!' Unable to restrain a loaded glance at Shimone and Hochopepa, he sighed, then bowed gravely to the Servant of the Empire. 'Lady, you shall not take your life before sundown. The public would create too much outcry, and my colleagues are likely to be blamed. Our choice is clear: chaos or a new order. You were first to see that not all of us hold enough command of our nature to kill without hesitation. Most magicians, in fact, would be hard set to harm an insect. No. Our might over the Empire has arisen from blind obedience over the years. Without that, we are . . . powerless.'

  'Powerless!' Tapek fumed. 'Not I, Akani.'

  Fumita restrained the red-haired magician with a crushing grip. 'Tapek, one foolish act shamed you nearly beyond forgiveness. Listen to reason for a change! Mara does not act for herself. She never has, could you but see that. You will never win over the Assembly to endorse civil war and chaos. And bloodshed unequaled is what we would have if you and your cadre of young-bloods do not accept the inevitable. I strongly suggest that you start repairing your reputation by appearing on the walls and commanding the attacking armies to cease fire and lay down their weapons.'

  'I will go with Tapek,' Shimone announced. He turned a stern, even pitiless look at his younger colleague, then grasped his teleportation device and disappeared. Few magicians in the Empire dared to cross Shimone when he was aroused. Still, Fumita showed no sign of releasing his hold until Tapek lowered his eyes and conceded the point. The young magician was then freed to vanish and rejoin Shimone.

  Hochopepa managed an affable shrug before the panoply of religious orders and ranking Lords backing Mara, 'I have no wish to govern, n
or do I intend to attempt to murder wholesale the most powerful priests in the Empire.' This statement was pointedly directed toward Motecha, who sought the support of other colleagues to back him, but found his cadre dissolving. In Shimone's absence, Sevean had sidled behind Fumita. Many more magicians were nodding agreement to the fat magician's capitulation. Gently Hochopepa reached out and removed the dagger from Mara's fingers.

  Then he announced loudly, 'A remarkable man, the magician Milamber, from Midkemia, once exhorted that our Empire had a stagnant culture brought into decline by our rigid adherence to our traditions. I think he was right' — the stout magician awarded Mara and the magnificence of the Chakaha mages a smile of admiration — 'for why else would the gods have preserved this remarkable woman?'

  To Mara he added, 'Lady, if the Light of Heaven may allow, we will withdraw and meet formally, but you may rest assured what our official position will be.' Then he was first among the Black Robes to step forward and repeat his bow of homage to emphasise that the boy on the dais was beyond dispute the ninety-second Light of Heaven.

  The magicians as a group followed suit, most of them humiliated enough to do so quietly, though a few in the back were heard to grumble. Fumita gave these dissenters a stern glare, and the Chakaha mages fixed each with an agate black eye that reminded of the singular ability of the cho-ja hive mind to remember.

  Mara felt a giddy relief sweep through her at the unequivocal capitulation of the most fearful enemies she had ever dared to provoke. As the Black Robes acknowledged her son's sovereignty, she went weak at the knees. Hokanu's heart-warming perception anticipated her need, and gratefully Mara accepted his support as he stepped to her side and put his arm around her waist.

  As the Great Ones filed out, and the central floor of the great hall slowly cleared, Lord Keda, Imperial Chancellor, swept forward in his glittering robes of office. Over his earlier bout of nerves, the old man had lost none of his command or his gifts as an orator as he announced, 'As chancellor, let me be first among your nobles to swear my loyalty to Emperor Justin.' He knelt and uttered the time-honored oaths, and tension seemed to flow from the crowd. Suddenly what might have been an armed camp was transformed into a hall of men kneeling, repeating the words of devotion to a boy who had been conceived as the get of a slave, and who had risen from being heir of the Acoma to become the ninety-second Emperor of Tsuranuanni.

  When the newly sworn members of his court arose, Justin squirmed on the dais, distress obvious on his face. To his mother, and the father who had adopted him for his own, he whispered loudly, 'You instructed me on everything else, but what do I do now?'

  Jehilia looked mortified by his lapse.

  Not a few of the priests stifled chuckles behind their ceremonial masks, while Hokanu pulled off his battle helm and laughed outright. 'Tell your people, "Let the celebration commence!"'

  Justin jumped up from his throne, all but dislodging the heavy golden helm with its crown piece that denoted imperial majesty. Dragging his lady wife by the hand, he looked far from decorous — more like a boy who had mischief in mind the moment his elders were not looking. 'Let the celebration commence!' he shouted.

  A cheer rocked the great hall of audience, more deafening for the fact that the siege engines of the Omechan had fallen silent. No more rocks crashed down upon the Imperial Precinct. And when the voices and the clamor had quelled to a more tolerable level, the great gongs in the temples of the Twenty Gods pealed out, calling the populace into the streets to accept largesse in the name of Justin, ninety-two times Emperor of Tsurannuanni.

  In the midst of the commotion as the great hall emptied, and the imperial heralds cried the news throughout the city, the small, mouselike figure of Jican descended upon the palace staff. The great bulk of the imperial hadonra caused him only the briefest pause. After an agitated argument, the immense official backed down, huffed words to the effect that royal propriety was going to be irretrievably ruined, and stalked off to his quarters. Jican turned his tongue-lashing on the rest of the palace staff, and within minutes the imperial household was turned upon its collective ear. They would produce a festival for their new Emperor, Jican commanded, whether it killed them all to the least of the pot boys and drudges. His determination proved infectious. Within hours the nobles in residence had exchanged battle armor for silk robes, and entertainers were converging upon the city officials, vying for the honor of providing music and poetry. Throughout the city, celebrations began as word spread that the new Light of Heaven had been chosen, and more, that Lady Mara, Servant of the Empire, had taken the stewardship of the Nations.

  33 — Imperial Council

  Lamps burned.

  Their light transformed the night into kaleidoscopic patterns of colors as silk-robed revelers danced in the streets and masked players staged joyous entertainment. The sounds of lacquered bells and laughter replaced the thudding impacts caused by siege engines. Within an ornate suite in the royal apartments of the Imperial Palace, Mara sat before a painted screen. The noise of the happy populace gave her deep satisfaction, but the half-smile of contentment that curved her lips was all for the small girl child who lay sound asleep in her lap. The Lady's expression of tranquillity was so profound that Hokanu, arriving at the door, hesitated to disturb her.

  But she had always been sensitive to his presence. Though he made no sound, Mara looked up. Her expression flowered into a smile of welcome. 'Hokanu.' Her greeting expressed all, from tenderness to deep love to the ache of separation that had lasted through the late troubled times.

  The Lord of the Shinzawai crossed the floor, his step a whisper on tile. He wore silk, not armor, and had replaced his studded battle sandals for leather-soled ones with cloth ties. He reached his wife's side, knelt, and offered his hand to Kasuma. The little one grasped his finger, comforted by his presence although she did not fully waken.

  'She has grown so much!' Mara murmured. When she had left for Thuril, Kasuma had been but an infant. Now she was a toddler, already trying her first words. The Lady's finger traced the line of her daughter's brows. 'She's going to have your scowl,' Mara mused to her husband. 'Probably that means she's inherited your stubbornness, also.'

  Hokanu chuckled. 'She's going to need it.'

  Mara joined him in laughter. 'Surely. She had better develop a sharp tongue, too, if she's to keep your cousin Devacai in line. Perhaps we should send her to Isashani of the Xacatecas for her finishing?'

  Hokanu was unusually silent at this. Mara missed his moment of stillness, touched as she was by memories of Nacoya, the irascible nurse who had raised and schooled her to the skills of Ruling Lady. Then reminiscence was abandoned as Hokanu's hands lifted Kasuma and settled her gently on her sleeping mat. He reached next for his wife, with the intent to perform the same office.

  'Your battles have not depleted you, I see,' Mara said as her husband settled beside her, and she began to work free the ties on his robe. 'Thank the gods for that, for I have missed you sorely. I don't think I could have endured another night of lying awake wondering whether you were alive or dead, or whether our children were going to fall as the victims of politics . . .' She paused, letting Hokanu's hands smooth away the unpleasant memory of dread. Somewhere in the city, a temple gong sang notes of felicity, and a laughing couplet of dancers ran on light feet past the window. Mara settled in the crook of her husband's arm. 'You came from the imperial suite, I presume. How is our Justin handling himself?'

  Hokanu muffled a snort of laughter in the warmth of his wife's hair. 'The little barbarian,' he said, when he could speak. 'The boy came to me with the shakes, his face as red as his hair, asking if he was expected to perform his husbandly office with Jehilia. Tonight.'

  Mara grinned. 'I should have thought he'd ask that before anybody else would have found time to inform him. He's stared down the shifts of the maids since he was big enough to climb up on the furniture. What did you say?'

  'When I could keep a straight face, you mean?' Hokanu said. 'I tol
d him that he'd have to wait for the privilege until his manhood ceremony at twenty-five.'

  Playfully shoving her husband, Mara said, 'You didn't!'

  Hokanu grinned. 'I don't think I've ever seen regret and relief so evenly mixed. Then I explained that Jehilia, being two years older than he, might decide she wished to visit his bedchamber when she came of age, and that as he would be only twenty-three, it would be her decision to make.'

  Now Mara exploded into merriment. 'Oh, that's perfect! The poor boy thinks he's to remain a chaste husband for another eleven years!'

  Hokanu shrugged. 'He'll figure it out soon enough.'

  'Don't let Jehilia discover what you've told Justin. She'll make his life miserable.'

  Hokanu planted a kiss on Mara's forehead. 'At least he'll think twice before he tries pushing the girl into a fishpond again.'

  'She's Empress.' Mara chuckled. 'She'd have every legal right to pull him in after her.'

  'And I expect one day, in a year or two, the rough play will turn friendly and Justin's concerns about husbandly duty will vanish.' Moving so that his face was above hers, Hokanu said, 'And speaking of husbandly duties . . .' Conversation died as Hokanu's lips found hers, and their embrace slowly blossomed into passion.

  Much later, the lanterns still shone. The revelers in the streets were fewer, but no less joyously raucous. The Lady of the Acoma and the Lord of the Shinzawai lay twined close, replete with their lovemaking. Neither felt inclined toward sleep. Both had much on their mind, and this was the first peaceful moment they had gained in which to speak of personal issues.

  Hokanu was first to broach the subject. 'Lady, with Justin now responsible for continuing the imperial line, you are again left without any heir for the Acoma.'

  Mara turned in her husband's arms, her hands tracing the firmness of a shoulder yet muscled from the sword. She took a moment to reply. 'I am content. If the line should end, there is no more honorable way. And it may be that Jehilia will be fecund, or that Justin will father sons on a later wife. His issue might be numerous enough that one can take on my mantle without harm to the imperial succession.'