Servant of the Empire (51 page)

Still, for all the underlying intrigue, the crossing of the trade quarter was spectacular. Only one member of the Acoma retinue was not occasionally drawn by the splendour; forced to ride a litter like a courtier, Keyoke sat impassive as a carved stone icon, no expression on his face.

Mara’s cortege passed into the temple plaza, a giant square that served as focal point for twenty vast buildings, raised to praise Tsurani gods and house the priests of their separate orders. Archways inlaid with shell flashed in the sunlight, set off by lacquered tiles, precious marbles, and pillars of malachite and onyx. At the centre of the plaza a great bonfire burned, surrounded by incense pots and altars heaped high with bowls of offerings. Kevin walked with difficulty, torn between staring at the splendours of an ancient and alien culture, and watching his feet for paving worn treacherously uneven.

Mara’s town house was situated off a quiet residential court, shadowed by the flowering trees that lined the
avenue. The front stood enclosed by an opulently tiled wall, above which rose its many-tiered roof, adorned at each gable with carved shatra birds. The wide, semicircular wooden portals at the entry were shaded by an arbour of purple vines that grew on trellises cut from thousands of giant seashells. The effect was designed to impress. Like many older families of the Empire, the Acoma owned quarters convenient to the heart of Kentosani and the halls of the imperial seat. Years might pass between visits, but the stately, centuries-old houses were always maintained against the need to reside in the city for weeks at a time. Each family in the High Council was allotted a tiny apartment within the Imperial Palace, but for comfort and the advantages of private entertaining, most rulers preferred the freedom and spaciousness of their less formal accommodation outside the inner city.

At the outer door to the Acoma town house, Jican awaited, accompanied by a servant in house livery. As Mara’s retinue halted before the dooryard, the hadonra bowed. ‘All is in readiness for your arrival, my Lady.’ Then he gestured, and on cue the gates swung wide.

Mara’s bearers bore their mistress inside, and as Jican and his attendant fell in behind, Kevin realized with surprise that the man in the servant’s robe was Arakasi. Under cover of the arbour, shielded by the steps of marching soldiers as the honour guard squeezed through the entry, the Spy Master leaned near to Mara’s litter.

Only Kevin walked near enough to note that words were exchanged between them. Then the retinue was fully into the courtyard within the walls, and the gates swung closed and barred. Kevin offered Mara his hand and noticed as he helped her from her cushions that she was forcing herself not to frown.

‘What’s in play?’ he asked. ‘Did Arakasi bring bad news?’

Mara flashed him a warning glance. ‘Not here,’ she
murmured, pointedly appearing to inspect the tiny garden that helped damp the street noise from the house. ‘Everything appears in order, Jican.’

Kevin remained puzzled by his mistress’s reticence until Arakasi nodded slightly toward the overhanging galleries of the home across the way. Watchers might lurk in the shadows there, and belatedly the Midkemian recalled that spies in this world included particularly sharp-eyed individuals trained to read lips. Mollified, he kept the proper one step behind his mistress as she entered her town house.

The inner hall smelled of waxed wood, spices, and old hangings; antique furnishings lay everywhere Kevin looked, lovingly polished by generations of servants. The residence in Kentosani was older than the estate home near Sulan-Qu. Most of the screens on the street side were overhung with patterned silk, but the inward wall opened into a central courtyard, green-tinged by the shade of ancient trees. Cramped stairs with balustrades carved with mythical beasts, worn nearly smooth by hands resting upon them, ascended through lofty ceilings. As if the building had once been a walled compound, the ground-level walls were stone, with the upper three storeys of wooden frame and cloth walls. Kevin stared in amazement, for the building was like none he had seen on either side of the rift. While tiny compared to the Acoma estate house, Mara’s town house was as large as a Kingdom inn. Massive beams and stonework were cleverly constructed, forming a dwelling that felt open and airy.

Balconies crammed with potted flowers overlooked the inner garden, with its fish pools and fountain, and one gnarled head gardener who brandished his rake at two slaves who scrubbed moss from tiled pathways. To no one in particular, Kevin said, ‘A man could get used to this.’

A jab from behind reminded him of his station. He looked around, and down, into the irascible countenance of
Nacoya, who clutched her walking stick at an angle that still meant business. ‘Your mistress calls for her bath, barbarian.’

Belatedly Kevin noticed that the ground floor was suddenly emptier and servants were rushing up the stair. Arakasi did not seem to be among them.

Poked again, and this time in a place that mattered sorely, Kevin said, ‘All right, little grandmother. I’m going.’ With an insolent smile, he hurried along.

Mara was already in her chambers, several strange maids busied with her undressing. Two other servants, neither one Arakasi, poured ceramic cauldrons of steaming water into a wooden tub. As Mara stood naked, her servant pinning her hair up, Kevin moved forward and tested the water temperature to ensure her comfort. At his nod, the servants departed.

Mara dismissed the maids, then mounted a small riser and gracefully stepped into the bath. She settled into the soothing warmth, eyes closed as Kevin began applying scented soap to her cheeks. Softly she said, ‘That feels wonderful.’

But the bothered expression did not ease from her face.

‘What did Arakasi say?’ Kevin asked as he massaged gently and removed the road dust from his beloved’s face. He laid his hands upon her shoulders as she bent to rinse off suds, her tension still apparent.

Mara sighed and blew droplets off her nose. ‘A clan meeting has been called for this afternoon. Someone took care to see that the notice never quite reached me. Sometime tonight an apologetic messenger will give us word upon his return from our estates, I am sure.’

Kevin retrieved the soap and resumed his washing. His fingers kneaded the nape of her neck, but she gave no sign of pleasure. Kevin guessed she thought upon that long-past visit from Jiro of the Anasati, when he had warned that
factions within the Hadama Clan were alarmed at the Acoma’s sudden rise. The victory treaty with Tsubar could only have inflamed existing jealousies. And worse: immediately before their departure for the Holy City, Arakasi’s spies had sent news that young Jiro had paid a call upon Lord Desio.

This missed message might be connected to both events. The politics of Kelewan were endless, and deadly dangerous. Unwilling to dwell too long on Tsurani intrigue, Kevin pressed Mara forward and began sluicing her back. ‘My Lady, mixed messages and clan rivalries will still be there after your bath. Unless you want to confront your kinfolk covered in road dirt?’

He startled an outraged laugh from her. ‘Beast. I’m certainly no dirtier than you, who walked the entire way in the open.’

Playfully Kevin ran a finger over his face and held it out as if inspecting it. ‘Hmmm. Yes, I do seem to be darker than when we began the journey.’

The soft cake of soap he held was unguarded, and Mara gouged out a dollop and seized the moment to deposit it on her lover’s nose. ‘Then you had best wash your own body as well.’

Kevin looked around in feigned regret. ‘I don’t see servants at hand to scrub my back, my Lady.’

Mara grabbed a sponge and drenched his face with water. ‘Get in here, you foolish man.’

Grinning widely, Kevin dropped the soap, stripped off his robes, and climbed into the tub. He settled in behind Mara and cradled her close, his fingers roaming over her body. Her skin quivered under his attentions. She whispered, ‘I thought you were going to wash off road dirt.’

His hands slipped under the water, still touching. ‘No one said washing had to be unpleasant.’

She turned in the circle of his arms, then stretched up and
kissed her barbarian slave. Soon the worries of clan rivalries were forgotten as she lost herself in the pleasures of his love.

Robed in formal colours, Mara waved for her bearers to pause before the Council Hall entrance. Surrounded by her tightly clustered bodyguard, and attended by a withered old serving maid, she endured several last-minute adjustments to her costume while Lujan and an honour company of five warriors waited to precede her into the chamber. Kevin stood behind her open litter. Unable to see past her towering jewelled headpiece to gain a view of the chamber, he settled with staring at the antechamber, its splendour unmatched by anything he had seen in his life. The building that housed the High Council was among the more imposing in Kentosani. The council occupied a complex larger than the entire Acoma estate house, with corridors lofty as caverns, each arch and doorway carved with fantastic creatures that earlier generations intended to repel evil influence. The gargoyles remained long after the names of the spirits had been forgotten, their fearsome countenances ignored by those who enjoyed their protection. The floors and ceilings were elaborately patterned, every inch of wall space painted with historical murals. Many of them showed warriors wearing Xacatecas and Minwanabi colours; sometimes he recognized a contingent in Acoma green. Newly appreciative of the Empire’s grand traditions, Kevin felt a stranger to his own culture.

This small city unto itself, with its own entrances and conference chambers independent of the palace proper, was guarded by companies of soldiers levied from all of the houses of the council members. The corridors were lined with armoured warriors in a hundred different colour combinations. Each company was pledged to preserve the peace, taking no sides should disputes lead to violence; however, every Lord ensured this vow was never put to the
test, for Tsurani honour held house loyalty above any abstract concept of fair play.

Kevin lost count of badges and colours long before reaching the anteroom. When he had faced Tsurani in the Riftwar, the armies were homogeneous, with perhaps two or three different houses marching under a combined command. But in this antechamber alone, at least a dozen armour patterns he did not recognize identified the houses that provided security for the meeting of Clan Hadama.

A voice called out beyond the entry, ‘The Lady of the Acoma!’ Then a huge pair of drums boomed. Lujan signalled his men to march in lockstep, and as Mara’s bearers moved forward in procession, Kevin caught sight of the drummers.

They stood to either side of the grand entry, clad in what looked like a costume of ancient pelts. The mallets in their hands were carved bone, and their instruments were of painted hide stretched over what close scrutiny revealed to be the inverted shells from gigantic turtles. Kevin made out the tripods underneath, fashioned from a lizardlike creature quilled with spines.

Being a barbarian slave had advantages at times – no one showed surprise that he gawked. If the hallways and corridors had impressed Kevin earlier, the hall of the council itself was overwhelming. Constructed under a circular dome, the hall was surrounded by upper galleries, with polished wooden benches, then descending levels of pillared galleries lined with chairs tantamount to thrones. Each gallery reminded Kevin of the Baron of Yabon’s private box on the festival grounds at the city’s annual fairs, where the start and finish line for horse races were located. The meanest noble family in the Empire was entitled to a seat the equal of the Baron’s in opulence. The most expansive galleries were on the lower levels, nearest the central dais, and many were set back under low canopies painted or
embroidered with house symbols – ensuring that those behind and to the sides could not spy upon conferences. Aisles that were really promenades separated them one from the next, so that messengers and retainers might hurry effortlessly about their masters’ bidding. The vast size of the room was necessary; Kevin was astonished by the crowd. The lower levels were packed with Lords in full Tsurani panoply. Colours and plumes and jewelled headdresses made a riotous feast for the eyes.

Kevin closed his gaping mouth with an effort. This was only a clan meeting!

Mara had attempted to explain clan relationships to him, and after a long and frustrating discourse Kevin grasped only a fuzzy concept of how all these notables were affiliated. By his understanding, somewhere back in the dim mists of history, these people had ancestors that were cousins. Bound to customs that seemed a knotwork of contradiction, they clung to what was, in Midkemian logic, an outdated concept of relationship, one that might have held significance in an earlier age, but that now seemed mostly ceremonial. Yet when Kevin had voiced this conclusion, Mara had insisted that clan loyalty was no phantom. Given the right motivation, these separate family factions would unite and die in bloody battle defending their elusive code of identity. It was the very urgency of such relationships that had created the Great Game, for once clan honour was invoked, no house could honourably ignore those ties of blood.

Once past the entry platform and the drummers, Kevin could view the entire chamber. The sheer size made him feel dwarfed. On a dais slightly higher than the ring of seats on the central level of the hall, a man in flowing robes and a massive headdress of green and yellow plumes nodded to Mara’s bearers to set down her litter. Her honour guard retired, to take up position above and behind the concentric
circle of seats cut into the lowest tier of galleries, and a snap of her fingers summoned Kevin to assist her to her feet. With the Lady poised on his arm, the Midkemian guided where she pointed: down a shallow stair, to a green-painted awning and a chair carved with shatra bird symbols, in a gallery large enough for all of Mara’s advisers and officers to surround her, should she need them close by. Followed by the ghostly echo of whispered conversation, Kevin kept his eyes down in proper Tsurani submission. He must observe the forms here, distasteful as they were to his beliefs. Fully five thousand people could fill the overhanging galleries, with room for ten thousand more at floor level, if occasion warranted.