Servant of the Empire (58 page)

Sounds of strife drifted in from the direction of the inner city, and running footsteps chased up and down the street. Whether these were men fleeing thieves, or assassins sent out to knife enemies, no one within the safety of walls dared open their gates to know.

Three hours after nightfall, Strike Leader Kenji returned, a sword cut in his shoulder and his armour chipped from hard fighting. He found Lady Mara in the kitchen, deep in consultation with Jican concerning food stores. By the slate in her hand, and the inventory going on, she looked as if she prepared for a siege.

Kenji bowed, and the movement caught Mara’s eye. She called for a servant to bring chocha, and settled her Strike Leader on a chopping table, while the battered basket of remedies was once again fetched from the stores.

‘The Sajaio were swept away by the mob.’ Kenji fought back a grimace as he reached to unbuckle his armour.

‘Don’t,’ Mara said. ‘Let me call a slave to help.’

But Kenji was too numbly focused on completing his duty to take heed. As the first fastening loosened, he started on another, and torturously resumed his report. ‘The two men with me were lost. One died fighting; the other perished in the falling fire. The mob drove me far astray, though I fought to return to the town house. Thick crowds jammed the temple precinct, drawn there in fear of their lives. I tried to come by way of the waterfront, but the docks there collapsed in the earthquakes.’

A slave appeared at Mara’s summons and stooped to help Kenji with his armour. His wound was sullenly bleeding, the silk padding underneath lacquer armour already ringed with stains. ‘There were riots, Lady.’ Kenji gasped as the breastplate was lifted from him. Sallow and sweating in his pain, he continued, his words laboured. ‘The poor and the fisherfolk from the dockside started looting moored barges and nearby shops.’

Mara glanced anxiously at Jican, who had earlier noticed the scarlet glow of fires and rightly predicted disastrous effects upon trade.

‘Some of the warehouses were torn open and gutted. Other folk swarmed away to the imperial precinct to demand food and shelter from the Warlord.’

Mara waved Kenji to silence. ‘You have done well. Rest now, and allow your hurts to be tended.’

But the battered Strike Leader insisted on rising to make his bow. As the slave brought warm water to soak the padding away from his half-formed scabs, he sank back and endured the discomfort in a wretched lethargy of exhaustion.

Mara sat down and took the hand of her officer. She remained with him while his shoulder was tended, and listened as sounds of distant strife mingled with the scratch of Jican’s chalk. Spread on benches and tables were supplies enough to last for several days. Thirty warriors might be enough to hold the gates against a mob bent on mayhem, but never a foray of armed force.

In the end, toward dawn, when Kenji was bedded down and sleeping, Mara consulted with Lujan, and an officer was chosen to summon reinforcements from the nearest Acoma garrison.

Thuds and screams drifted in through the screens, incongruous against the liquid play of fountains. The sky lay tinged by the glow of raging fires, and the streets were safe for no man. As Lujan let his messenger out the gate, he said in worried parting, ‘Let us pray to the gods that our enemies are in as much disarray as we are.’

‘Indeed,’ Mara murmured. ‘Let us pray.’

The trumpet sounded.

After two days behind locked gates, with Acoma soldiers camped in garden and courtyard and even the downstairs hallway, the noise was a welcome intrusion. Mara pushed away a book scroll she had failed to read. Her nerves were like overwound strings, responsive to the slightest movement and sound. She was on her feet ahead of thought, even as the warriors on duty had blades half-drawn from their scabbards.

And then reason caught up with defensive instinct. An attack would not be heralded with a fanfare, nor take place in the light of midday. Trumpets could only signal a long-overdue call to council or other imperial announcement. Grateful the waiting was ended, Mara arose to go downstairs.

Arakasi had dispatched no reports in the interim. Mara had been reliant on hearsay bought by tossing coins over the walls to rumourmongers, and what news she managed to glean was far too sparse for the enormity of the events that had transpired. Word had passed like wind through the streets the night before that Almecho had taken his life in shame. Odd talk also circulated that the Assembly had named Milamber outcast and stripped him of his rank. Less reliable sources said the barbarian magician had eliminated the Assembly altogether. That version Mara doubted; when she tried to imagine power on a vast enough scale to subdue the tempest that had destroyed the arena, her mind balked at the concept.

Unasked, Kevin had dryly observed that he would not
wish to be the one sent to inform the barbarian magician of his change in status.

Mara picked her way down the grand stair, which was stacked like shelves in an armoury with helms and bracers laid aside by resting warriors. Swords lay piled in corners, and the curved scroll of the balustrade became a mustering place for spears. Since the arrival of the relief troops, her original thirty warriors had swelled to a garrison of one hundred, and the guest suites were all jammed with officers.

The horn call had roused more sleepers, and the on-duty patrol of seventy-five was fully armoured. Prepared for immediate action, the men formed up at the appearance of their mistress and cleared a path between her and the door. Mara passed through and wondered that Kevin was not among the dicers in the corner.

The dooryard outside was no less jammed with warriors. They formed ranks three deep in the narrow space as she signalled for Lujan to unbar the street gate.

Four Imperial Whites waited on the other side, and a herald in a thigh-length robe of brilliant white. His badges of rank flashed in the sunlight, as did the golden ribbon around his head and his gilt-trimmed rod of office.

‘Lady Mara of the Acoma,’ he intoned.

Mara advanced a step ahead of Lujan and presented herself.

The herald returned a shallow bow. ‘I bring words from the Light of Heaven. Ichindar, ninety-one times Emperor, bids you retire to your home at leisure. Go in peace, for his shadow is thrown across the breadth of the land and his arms encircle you. Any who trouble your passage shall be enemies of the Empire. So he has decreed.’

The warriors behind Mara maintained an expectant stillness. But to the astonishment of all, the Emperor’s herald made no mention of a call to council. Without
waiting for response, and speaking no further word, he formed up his escort and marched down the lane to the next house.

Surprised, Mara stood frowning in full sunlight while her officers closed and barred her gates. She had lost weight since the flight from the arena. Worry left her pale, with heavy shadows under her eyes, and now this latest development chilled her with bone-deep foreboding. If the Warlord had died in disgrace, and the Lords of the Empire and their families were being sent home with no call to council, the implication could no longer be doubted: the Emperor must have entered the Great Game.

‘We need Arakasi,’ Mara said, coming back to herself with a start. She raised harried eyes to her Force Commander. ‘If the Emperor’s guard keeps the peace, surely we could send out a runner?’

‘Pretty Lady, it will be done,’ said Lujan, in an almost forgotten tone of banter. ‘Safe streets or not, every man or servant here would run barefoot through mayhem if you asked.’

‘I would not ask.’ In a mix of grave amusement, Mara looked down at her own feet, still wrapped in soft cloths from her shoeless flight through the streets. ‘I’ve tried the experience. Jican has already received orders: my slaves are all getting new sandals.’

Which in its way showed the influence of the Midkemian, though on that point Lujan withheld comment. The mistress was like no other ruler he had met, with her radical ideas, and her unflinching toughness, and her odd moments of compassion. ‘If you think we could do with more floor space,’ he said, ‘half the garrison could be sent to the public baths.’

Now Mara did smile. ‘They don’t like being stepped on in their sleep? We are a bit overcrowded,’ she allowed. In fact, the house smelled like an uncleaned, cheap public hostel.
‘Do as you see fit, but I want an extra company kept close at hand within the city.’ As she turned to reenter the town house to arrange her summons to Arakasi, she added a final thought. ‘The last thing the Acoma are going to do is tuck up tail and run home.’

When Lujan bowed, he was grinning.

The runner proved unnecessary. While Mara deliberated over how best to get covert word to one of the agreed-upon places for leaving messages, the Spy Master himself showed up in the guise of a vegetable seller. The first Mara knew of the event was a commotion from the kitchens, and an uncharacteristic bout of temper from Jican.

‘Gods, don’t slice him with that meat cleaver,’ Kevin said in a merry baritone. His laughter echoed up the broad staircase, and aware that her irate hadonra would retaliate by having her lover scrape latrines, Mara hurried down to intervene.

She found her Spy Master leaning on the wheel of a handcart filled with a cargo of spoiled vegetables that some thrifty soul had saved to feed livestock. ‘There aren’t any fresh ones in the market,’ Arakasi was saying reasonably to Jican. When that failed to placate the red-faced little man, he added on a note of hope, ‘In the poor quarter, these melons would fetch good prices.’

In danger of laughing outright after days of trauma and worry, Mara made her presence felt. ‘Arakasi, I have need of you. Jican, ask Lujan for an escort of soldiers, and go and find some edible meat to butcher. If you find none, those melons won’t smell so terrible.’

Arakasi pushed off from his perch, bowed, and left handcart and contents to the hadonra. ‘Happy hunting,’ he murmured as he passed, and earned an intent look from Mara. ‘You seem in a fine mood this morning,’ she commented.

‘That’s because nobody else is,’ Kevin interrupted. ‘He does it just to be perverse.’

The barbarian fell into step with mistress and Spy Master as she retraced her way through the scullery, then settled for conference on the stone benches laid out in a circle within the courtyard.

Mara liked the place, with its flowering trees and its soft-voiced trio of fountains. But her manner was far from languid as she opened, ‘Is it certain Almecho is dead?’

Arakasi shed a smock that smelled ripely of fruit mould. ‘The Warlord performed the rite of expiation before all his retainers and friends, including two Great Ones. His body lies in state in the Imperial Palace.’

‘You heard there is no call to council?’ Mara questioned, and now her concern showed through.

Arakasi’s lapse into levity ended. ‘I had heard. Some Lords are already grumbling, and Desio’s voice is the loudest.’

Mara closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of flowers. So fast; events were moving all too swiftly. For the sake of her house, she must act, but how? All the known laws had been broken. ‘Who will rule?’

‘The Emperor.’ All eyes turned to Kevin.

Mara sighed in a burst of impatience. ‘You do not understand. The Emperor rules as a spiritual leader. While the daily business of the Tsuranuanni is conducted by the imperial staff, the High Council governs the nation. All policy begins there, with the Warlord foremost among the great Lords of the land.’

Kevin hiked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the palace. ‘I seem to remember someone saying the Light of Heaven never went out in public, either, but there he was, big as life, sitting at the games. This Emperor has already changed the way of his fathers, as I see things. Ichindar may be more intent on governing than you think.’

Arakasi stroked his chin. ‘If not he, then the Great Ones could be at play here. There were an inordinate number of them present the other day.’

‘Everyone has guesses,’ Mara interjected. ‘What we need are facts. Who survived the debacle at the games, and were there any suspicious accidents in the aftermath?’

‘Far more injuries than fatalities,’ Arakasi said. ‘I will write you a list before I leave. If a momentous precedent is being set at the palace, there are agents I can approach with questions. For now I advise caution, despite the Emperor’s peace. Many streets are still blocked with debris. The priests of the Twenty Orders have opened their temples to house the homeless, but with trade disrupted at the docks, food is scarce. There are hungry, desperate people at large who are every bit as dangerous as assassins. Repair work began at the waterfront this morning, but until the markets reopen, the streets will be perilous to walk.’

Mara made a rueful gesture at the wrappings on her feet. ‘I shouldn’t be going out until my litter is replaced, in any event.’

Arakasi rose, stretched, and flexed his hands until his knuckles cracked. Mara regarded him narrowly. The cut on his cheek was healing, but the surrounding flesh looked more drawn than she recalled. ‘How long has it been since you slept?’

‘I haven’t,’ said the Spy Master. ‘There has been too much to do.’ With the faintest distaste, he picked up the discarded farm smock. ‘With your leave, my Lady, I will borrow back that handcart and seek your guards and hadonra. The markets may be closed, but I do have ideas where Jican might buy vegetables.’ His head vanished briefly behind crumpled, filthy cloth as he tugged the garment over his house robe. Tousled, squint-eyed, and looking every inch the weathered field hand when he emerged, he added, ‘The price will be very dear.’