Servant of the Empire (6 page)

Mara dismissed the remark. ‘I have only the Minwanabi to fear. We are at odds with no one else at present, and I wish
things to remain that way. We must all prepare for the strike we know will come. It’s just a question of when and in what form.’ Mara’s voice held an uncertain note as she added, ‘I expected a swift reprisal after Jingu’s death, even if only a token raid.’ And yet, for a month, no changes had been observed in the Minwanabi household.

Desio’s appetite for drink and slave girls had increased, Mara’s spies reported; and Jican’s quick eyes had noticed the drop in Minwanabi trade goods sold within the Empire’s marketplaces. This decrease in wares had driven prices up, and other houses had prospered as a result: hardly the desire of the power-hungry Minwanabi, particularly after that family had suffered such a loss in prestige.

Neither were there any overt preparations for war. The Minwanabi barracks maintained practice as usual, and no recall orders had gone out to the troops at war on the barbarian world.

Force Commander Keyoke had not taken the spies’ reports to heart. Never complacent where Mara’s safety was concerned, he laboured among his troops morning until nightfall, reviewing the condition of armour and weapons, and overseeing battle drills. Lujan, his First Strike Leader, spent hours at his side. He – like all Acoma soldiers – was lean and battle-ready, his eyes quick to fix upon movement, and his hand always near his sword.

‘I don’t like the way things look,’ Keyoke said, his words sharp over the fall of water in the fountain. ‘The Minwanabi estate might appear to be in chaos, but this could be a ruse to cover preparations for a strike against us. Desio may be grieving for his father, but I grew up with Irrilandi, his Force Commander, and I will tell you there is no laxity in any Minwanabi barracks. Warriors can march in a moment.’ His capable hands tightened on the helmet in his lap, until the officer’s plumes at the crest quivered with his tension. Ever expressionless, Keyoke shrugged. ‘I know our forces
should be preparing to counter this threat you speak of, but the spies give us no clue where we should look for the next thrust. We cannot keep ourselves at battle readiness indefinitely, mistress.’

Lujan nodded. ‘There has been no movement in the wilds among the grey warriors and condemned men. No large force of bandits is reported, which should mean it’s safe to assume that the Minwanabi are not staging for a covert attack, as they did against Lord Buntokapi.’

‘Seem not to be,’ Keyoke amended. ‘Lord Buntokapi,’ he said, naming Mara’s late husband, ‘was given ample warning.’ His eyes showed a fleeting bitterness. ‘For Lord Sezu, warning came too late. This was
Tasaio
’s plotting, and a more clever relli has never been birthed by the Minwanabi,’ he observed, referring to the deadly Kelewan water serpent. ‘The moment I hear Tasaio has been recalled, I will begin sleeping in my armour.’

Mara nodded to Nacoya, who seemed to have something to add. The old woman’s pins were askew, as always, but her gruff manner seemed more thoughtful than sharp. ‘Your Spy Master’s agents will pay very careful attention to important matters within the Minwanabi household.’ A shrewd expression crossed the adviser’s face. ‘But he is a man, Lady, and will concentrate on numbers of soldiers, stockpiling of stores for battle, the comings and goings of leaders, messages to allies. I would suggest that you put your agent under orders to watch for the moment when Desio tires of his slave girls. A man with a purpose does not dally in his bed. This I remember well. The moment Desio ceases drinking wine and fondling women, then we
know
he plots murder against your house.’

Mara made a faintly exasperated gesture. The slightest hint of a smile curved her lips, making her radiantly pretty. Though she was unaware of the fact, Lujan was not; he watched his mistress with devoted admiration and added a
playful comment. ‘My Lady, First Adviser’ – here he nodded to the wizened Nacoya – ‘I will bid the warriors who sweat through their drills at noon to await the exhaustion of Desio’s member. When the Minwanabi flag droops, we will all line up for the charge.’

Mara blushed and threw the First Strike Leader a dark look. ‘Lujan, your insight is apt, even if your example is not.’ Since her wedding night, Mara had little comfort with such talk.

Lujan bowed. ‘My Lady, if I have given offence …’

She waved away the apology – she could never stay angry with Lujan – then turned her head as her runner rushed up and bowed at her elbow.

‘Speak, Tamu,’ she said gently, for the young boy was new to his post and still uncertain of himself.

Tamu pressed his forehead to the floor, still intimidated by being in a noble’s presence. ‘Lady, your Spy Master awaits in your study. He says he has brought reports from Hokani Province, particularly from estates to the north.’

‘At last,’ said Mara in relief. She recognized in the runner’s choice of language what her Spy Master, Arakasi, had striven to impart. Only one estate in Hokani mattered. He would have word of the countermove her people had been awaiting through four strained weeks. To her advisers she said, ‘I will speak with Arakasi at once, and meet with you all later in the afternoon.’

Breezes played through the ulo leaves, and the fountain still sang its splashing song, as the Acoma officers bowed to acknowledge their dismissal. Keyoke and Lujan were first to rise. Jican gathered his tally slates and asked his Lady’s permission to look in on the cho-ja silk makers. Mara granted his request, but waved him off before he could reiterate any of his constant concerns.

Nacoya was last to rise. Arthritis had slowed her movements of late, and Mara was jolted by the unpleasant
recognition that age was taking its toll on the indomitable old woman. Nacoya’s promotion to First Adviser had been well earned, and despite her belief that she had risen higher than she deserved, Mara’s former nurse had worn her mantle of office with grace and shrewd intelligence. Thirty years serving the wives and daughters of Ruling Lords had gained her a unique insight into the Game of the Council.

Mara watched Nacoya’s stiff bow with trepidation. She could not imagine Acoma prosperity without the old woman’s acerbic guidance or her strong, affectionate nature, which had supported Mara through worse troubles than she had ever imagined she might survive. Only the gods knew how long Nacoya might live, but, with a chill, Mara sensed that her First Adviser’s days were limited. The Lady of the Acoma was in no way prepared for the loss. Save for her son, the old woman was all Mara counted family in the world. If she lost Nacoya unexpectedly, there was no clear choice among her servants for the role of First Adviser.

Mara pushed such gloomy thoughts away. Best not to think of future sorrows when the Minwanabi were busy plotting vengeance, she justified to herself.

Mara bade her runner slave rise and inform Arakasi that she would be joining him in the study. Then she clapped for a servant and sent to the kitchen for food. For unless Arakasi changed his manner, he had come straight to his mistress from the road and had not eaten since the night before.

Mara’s study was dim and cool, even during early afternoon. Furnished with a low black table and fine green silk cushions, it had hand-painted screens opening onto a walkway lined with flowering akasi plants. When open, the outer doors provided a view of the Acoma estates, needra meadows rolling away to the wetlands where the shatra birds flew each sunset. But today the screens were only partially open, and the view was blocked by filmy silk drapes that admitted air while keeping out prying eyes.
Mara entered a room that appeared at first glance to be empty. Experience had taught her not to be deceived; still, she could not entirely control her slight start.

A voice spoke without warning from the dimmest corner. ‘I closed the drapes, Lady, since the work crew is trimming the akasi.’ A shadowy figure stepped forward, graceful as a predator stalking prey. ‘Although your overseer is honest, and Midkemians are unlikely to be spies, still, I take precautions out of habit.’

The man knelt before his mistress. ‘More than once such practices have saved my life. I bring you greetings, Lady.’

Mara gave him her hand as a sign he should make himself comfortable. ‘You are doubly welcomed home, Arakasi.’ She studied this fascinating man. His dark hair was wet, but not from a bath. Arakasi had paused only to rinse off travel dust and slip on a fresh tunic. His hatred of the Minwanabi equalled any harboured by those born on Acoma lands, and his desire to see the most powerful of the Five Families ground down into oblivion was dearer to him than life.

‘I hear no sounds of shears,’ Mara pointed out. She permitted her Spy Master to rise. ‘Your return is a relief, Arakasi.’

The Spy Master straightened and settled back onto his heels. Mara had a quick mind, and, with her, discussions tended to thread through several topics simultaneously. He smiled with genuine pleasure, for in her service his reports bore rich fruit. Without waiting for her to be seated, he answered her earlier query. ‘You hear no sounds of shears, Lady, because the overseer sent away the workers. The slaves on the first shift complained of sunburn, and rather than sweat over the whip, the overseer chose to shuffle the work roster.’

‘Midkemians,’ Mara said shortly, as she settled onto her cushions. With Arakasi she felt familiar, and since the day waxed hot, she loosened her sash and allowed the breeze
through the drapes to cool her through her opened robe. ‘They are recalcitrant as breeding needra. Jican advised against my buying them, and I fear he may have been right.’

Arakasi considered this with a birdlike cock of his head. ‘Jican thinks like a hadonra, not a ruler.’

‘Meaning he does not see the whole picture,’ Mara said, and the light in her eyes intensified with the challenge of matching wits with her Spy Master. ‘You find the Midkemians interesting,’ she surmised.

‘Passingly so.’ Arakasi turned at a slight step in the corridor, and seeing that the disturbance was nothing more than a servant approaching from the kitchen, he again faced his mistress. ‘Their customs are not like ours, Lady. If there are slaves in their culture, my guess is they are very different creatures from ours. But I digress from my purpose.’ His eyes grew suddenly sharp. ‘Desio of the Minwanabi at last begins to show his hand as Ruling Lord.’

The servant arrived at the doorway with platters of fruit and cold jigabird. Arakasi fell silent as Mara motioned for the tray to be placed on the table. ‘You must be hungry.’ She invited her Spy Master to take his ease upon the cushions. The servant departed silently, and for the moment all was quiet outside. Neither Mara nor her Spy Master reached for the dishes. The Lady of the Acoma spoke first. ‘Tell me of Desio.’

Arakasi became very still. His dark eyes showed no emotion at all, but his hands, so seldom betraying his mood, went tense. ‘The young Lord is not the player of the Great Game that his father was,’ he opened. ‘This if anything makes him more dangerous. With Jingu, my agents always knew where and when to listen. This is not so with the son. An experienced opponent is somewhat predictable. A novice may prove … innovative.’ He smiled slightly and nodded in Mara’s direction, acknowledging that her own successes bore out his observations. ‘He’s no creative
thinker, but what Desio can’t gain by wit, he may yet bungle into having.’ The Spy Master poured himself a cup of jomach juice and took a tentative sip. He would find no poisons in this house, but the subject of the Minwanabi, as always, made him prickle with uneasiness and caution. Seeking a lighter tone, lest he needlessly alarm his young mistress, Arakasi added, ‘Desio has a lot of soldiers to bungle with.’

Mara considered her Spy Master’s mood, perhaps brought on by his own need for self-control, for to give his hatred free rein he would seek the destruction of his enemies without regard for the safety of any and all things near to him.

‘But Desio himself is weak, no matter how strong those who serve him.’ Arakasi abandoned his juice cup on the table. ‘He has inherited all his father’s passions, but not Jingu’s restraints. If not for Force Commander Irrilandi’s vigilance, his enemies might have torn through his defences and fed off his wealth like a pack of jagunas over a dead harulth,’ he said, referring to Kelewan’s doglike carrion eater and most feared predator: a giant, six-legged terror, all speed and teeth. Arakasi steepled his hands and looked keenly at Mara. ‘But Force Commander Irrilandi kept his patrols in first-class order. Many exploratory raids were mounted within days of Jingu’s death, and Minwanabi left only a few survivors licking their wounds.’

‘The Xacatecas were among those enemies,’ Mara prompted.

Arakasi returned a nod. ‘They bear the Minwanabi no affection, and my agent in Lord Chipino’s household indicates that the Xacatecas’ First Adviser raised the possibility of alliance with the Acoma. Others in his council are still opposed; they say you have shown the best you have, and wait for you to fall. But Chipino of the Xacatecas listens without making final judgment.’

Mara raised her eyebrows, surprised. The Xacatecas were one of the Five Families. Her victory over Jingu had indeed raised regard for her name, if Chipino’s advisers would debate a possible alliance that would be a virtual declaration of war on the Minwanabi. Even the Shinzawai had skirted the question of open ties, content for the moment to keep a friendly but neutral position.

‘But the Xacatecas can wait,’ said Arakasi. ‘Desio will not formulate policy on his own, but come to depend on advisers and relations. Power and leadership will be spread over several men, making a clear-cut picture very difficult for my agents to gather. This will make our predictions unreliable where broad policy is concerned, and certainty impossible when it comes to assessing the Minwanabi’s immediate plans.’