Servant of the Empire (71 page)

Behind, grunts of effort from Lujan and the bang and hammer of swords sounded warning; once again foes had breached the wall between Mara’s quarters and the next-door apartment. Kevin muttered, ‘Guard this door!’ and raced to reach Mara’s location. There two Acoma soldiers stood at bay, their mistress behind them, while a half-dozen dark warriors pressed to overwhelm them.

Hoarsely Kevin shouted, ‘You bastards!’ He threw himself against the rearmost. The men he struck carried forward into those ahead. Legs tangled, and sword arms flailed, and the whole mass tumbled to the floor. Kevin slid and rolled on the slick floor, forcing fatigued muscles to respond one more time, and one more time again. He came up sword foremost and staggered a step. Three foes yet survived the sally. Kevin hamstrung the nearest. Another he hacked across the back of the neck, and the blow carried barely enough force to wound. As the two Acoma soldiers rallied to kill the last attackers, Mara cried out, ‘Kevin! Behind you!’

Kevin spun, peripherally aware that the hamstrung man had a knife. That one he had to leave to fate, because a
sword sang down at his head. He jerked right, caught a foot upon the outflung leg of a dead man, and crashed hard into the corpse. The attacker’s sword carved a glancing line along his upper left arm. Howling with anger at the pain, Kevin twisted. His blade caught the dark warrior just above the groin. He shook blood out of his eyes. One of the Acoma soldiers jumped to his side, a foot raised in a thrust against the dying man’s shield. The enemy crashed back, thrashing, into the narrow hallway, hampering another dark warrior behind him.

Kevin gasped a searing breath. ‘Gods! There’s more of them!’ He struggled to stand against a terrible, ringing noise. Trumpets, he realized dully. His back was aflame and his left arm dangled. Wetness dripped off his fingers. Still he staggered upright and dragged after the first Acoma soldier toward the outer door. At his back one last man waited, sword poised in protection before Mara. Kevin managed a lopsided smile of farewell before he stumbled into the hall. The end was upon them. Lujan, Arakasi, Hoppari, Bontura – all were nowhere to be found, though sounds of struggle issued from the second bedchamber. Without outside help, their numbers were too depleted for them to survive.

As he reached the last doorway, Kevin sighted two soldiers in black armour fleeing out of the hole in the wall toward the garden. Their rush struck him as funny, but tears came instead of laughter. Again a trumpet sounded, louder.

Then the apartment was silent, save for the groan of a wounded warrior and, from somewhere, the laboured wheeze of the Lord of the Bontura. Lujan stumbled out of a doorway, his helm gone and blood streaming down his face from a scalp wound. He gave a silly grin at Kevin and rocked to an exhausted halt. ‘The Emperor! He’s here! Those trumpets are the garrison of the palace. The Imperial Whites have returned!’

Kevin collapsed where he stood, and only the wall that
banged his shoulder prevented him from hitting the floor. Lujan sank down beside him. A nasty cut on his temple bled freely, and his armour was hacked to scraps. Kevin un-cramped his fingers from his sword, groped after a shredded cushion, and used that to staunch the flow of blood. Hoppara stumbled out of the bedchamber door, Lord Iliando leaning on his arm. But Kevin had eyes only for Mara. As weary as the rest, she came to kneel by his side and said, ‘The Emperor?’

Before Lujan found his voice, a pair of white-clad warriors marched smartly through the door. One of them demanded loudly, ‘Who claims this place?’

Mara drew herself erect. Her hair in tangles and her robe smudged scarlet, she recovered a Lady’s haughty poise. ‘I, Mara of the Acoma! This is my apartment. The Lords of the Xacatecas and Bontura are my guests.’

If the imperial warrior found anything incongruous in her choice of terms, he made no comment. ‘Lady,’ he addressed her in formal tones, his brows raised as he glanced around at the carnage. ‘My Lords. The Light of Heaven commands all house rulers to attend the High Council at noon.’

‘I shall attend,’ Mara replied.

Without another word the Imperial Whites reeled around and departed. Kevin thumped his head back against the wall. Tears of exhaustion ran down his face. ‘I could sleep for months.’

Mara touched his face, almost sorrowfully. ‘There is no time.’ To Lujan she said, ‘Find where Jican is hiding and send him to our town house for clean clothing. He must also bring back maids and servants. This place must be cleansed and I must be ready in full formal attire by noon.’

Kevin closed his eyes, savouring one blessed moment of peace. No matter how tired he was, a long, trying day lay before Mara. Where she went, he was bound by his love to go with her.

Pulling himself to his feet, he opened his eyes and motioned to an equally exhausted Acoma warrior. ‘Come on. Let’s start fertilizing the garden.’

The pillow cloth pressed to his head, Lujan motioned for the soldier to comply. Kevin had but a step to go to find the first corpse, which he gripped under the arms. As the warrior hefted the feet, and the pair of them stumbled awkwardly to the screen with their burden, Kevin observed, ‘Too bad it wasn’t more of those Hamoi assassins. At least then we wouldn’t have to lug armour.’

Lujan shook his head slightly, but a faint smile showed his appreciation of Kevin’s strange view of life.

After hours of bustling preparation, Mara emerged from an apartment cleared of dead and debris. Her hair was washed and bound back under a jewelled headdress, and formal robes brought from her town house flowed down to slippers unspattered with blood. Her honour guard wore trappings borrowed at need from the house garrison, and Lujan’s officer’s plumes nodded proudly from his helm, still damp, but at least rinsed clean since the battle. If bracers and flowing cloaks hid scabs and bandages, and if the walk of the warriors was on the stiff side of correct, Mara judged the honour of the Acoma remained unblemished by their appearance as she approached the entrance to the High Council chambers.

Imperial Whites stood guard in the hallways, and a troop of ten was stationed before the portal. There Mara’s party was signalled to halt. ‘Lady,’ one of the soldiers commanded with scant sign of deference, ‘the Light of Heaven permits you to enter with but one soldier, lest more bloodshed defile his palace.’

Mara could only bow before an imperial edict. After an instant of swift thought, she inclined her head to Lujan. ‘Return to our quarters and await my summons.’

Then, from the ranks of her guard, she signalled to Arakasi to stand forth. The splint beneath his right bracer might decrease his advantage as a fighter, but she did not wish to be without his counsel. And after the past night, even if a Lord was rash enough to try violence in the presence of the Emperor’s guard, Kevin had proved he could handle the sword in Arakasi’s scabbard.

Yet as Mara also waved her body slave from her retinue, the guard put up a restraining hand. ‘One soldier only, my Lady.’

Mara returned a disdainful look. ‘Do slave robes look like armour today?’ Her eyes narrowed, and with all the arrogance she could muster she added, ‘I will not subject an honourably wounded warrior to the duties of a common runner. When I need to send for my escort, the slave will be needed to carry my orders.’

The guard hesitated, and Mara swept past before he could rally and offer argument. Kevin forced himself to follow without a glance back, lest unsubservient behaviour precipitate a quick change of mind about his worthiness to be admitted.

The hall seemed sparsely populated after the previous day, and those Lords present were considerably more subdued. Mara acknowledged a few greetings as she moved to her seat, her eyes busy between times taking stock of empty places. To Arakasi she murmured, ‘At least five Omechan Lords are absent.’

The instant she settled in her chair, a flurry of activity commenced. A dozen notes were placed before her by soldiers who simply bowed and left without waiting for reply. Mara scanned each quickly, then handed the papers to Arakasi, who put them in his tunic without a glance. ‘We have gained,’ she said in amazement.

She pointed to an area that had stayed empty throughout the previous week. Now elaborately robed nobles were
arriving to take their seats, with warriors that looked untouched by combat. ‘The Blue Wheel Party is among us.’

Arakasi nodded. ‘Lord Kamatsu of the Shinzawai comes to bargain with others, gaining whatever advantage Lord Keda can command. He and Lord Zanwai will do little more than keep their party from deserting wholesale in the first ten minutes.’

Mara glanced at the company, seeking the familiar face of Hokanu. Only one soldier wore Shinzawai blue, and he was a stranger, wearing the high plume of a Force Commander. Obviously, the heir to the Shinzawai estate was no longer permitted to come where he would be at risk. Mara felt disappointed.

A hush fell over the room as the two highest-ranking Lords entered last. Axantucar, now Lord of the Oaxatucan, stepped down to his chair roughly the same moment as Tasaio. Both walked with haughty bearing, as if they were the only men of consequence in the room. Neither one so much as glanced in the direction of his major opponent.

As soon as each candidate was seated, a number of Lords stood up and moved as if to confer with either Tasaio or Axantucar. Each would halt a moment, as if exchanging a quick greeting, then return to his chair.

Kevin asked, ‘What are they doing?’

‘Voting upon the office of Warlord,’ answered Arakasi. ‘By this act each Lord confirms his allegiance to the claimant he prefers to wear the white and gold. Those who are undecided’ – his hand swept the room – ‘watch and choose.’

Kevin looked down and observed that Mara closely measured the play of the Great Game. ‘When do you go to Oaxatucan?’

‘Not yet.’ Mara’s brow furrowed as she studied the order of nobles who moved across the floor to either the Lord of the Oaxatucan or the Lord of the Minwanabi.

Then, for no reason that was apparent to foreign eyes,
Mara abruptly rose and descended the stairs. She crossed the lower floor as if heading toward Tasaio. A hush fell over the room. All eyes watched the slender woman as she mounted the stairs toward the Minwanabi chair. Then she turned and in three short strides came alongside the seat of Hoppara of the Xacatecas. She spoke briefly to him and returned to her place.

Kevin whispered, ‘What was that? Could the boy take the office?’

Arakasi said, ‘It is a ploy.’

Several other Lords moved to speak to Hoppara, and soon it was clear that no other claimant would declare himself. Kevin quickly calculated in his head and said, ‘It’s roughly equal. A quarter for Minwanabi, a quarter for Oaxatucan, a quarter for Xacatecas, and a quarter yet undecided.’

For a long quiet moment no one moved. Lords sat in their finery and looked about, or spoke to advisers or servants. Then another Lord here or there would rise and move to one of the three claimants. After a few moments another pair would rise and make their preference known.

Then Kevin said, ‘Wait! That Lord in the feathered headdress spoke to Minwanabi before. Now he’s speaking to Oaxatucan.’

Mara nodded. ‘The balance shifts back and forth.’

The afternoon wore slowly on. As bars of sunlight moved across the high expanse of the dome, the High Council continued the strange custom that determined primacy among Ruling Lords of the Empire. Twice Mara rose to speak with Lord Xacatecas, showing that her support for the young man was unshaken.

Then, as evening approached, Mara nodded at some unseen signal. The next moment both she and Lord Hoppara rose. As one they moved from their different vantage points and arrived before the chair of Axantucar. A
rustle swept the chamber. Suddenly another score of nobles left their places and advanced to stand before the Omechan Lord.

Then Mara returned to her seat and said, ‘Now.’

Kevin saw her eyes move to where Tasaio sat. The Lord of the Minwanabi returned a look of such pure malevolence that Kevin felt chills touch his skin. By now his wounds ached, and his robes itched, and every bruise acquired the night before made standing a trial of endurance.

As Kevin wondered how much longer the council could drag on without resolution, the climate in the hall changed suddenly from waiting stillness to charged expectancy.

Tasaio rose. The great chamber became silent, every Lord motionless in his chair. In a voice that rang loudly in the quiet, the Lord of the Minwanabi said, ‘It is fitting a message be sent to the Light of Heaven that one among us is willing to wear the white and gold, that he will stand first among us to guarantee continuance of the Empire. Let it be known his name is Axantucar of the Oaxatucan.’

A cheer arose from the council gathering, a vast echo of sound that filled the chamber to the highest arch in the ceiling; though Kevin noticed more than half of the Lords responded with little enthusiasm. He asked Arakasi, ‘Why did Minwanabi give up?’

Mara herself returned answer. ‘He was defeated. It is tradition for the Lord who is closest to the victor to proclaim to the Emperor.’

Kevin smiled. ‘That’s a bitter draught.’

The Lady of the Acoma nodded slowly. ‘Bitter indeed.’ As if she noticed the discomfort that wore away at her love’s reserves, she added, ‘Patience. By tradition we must wait until the Light of Heaven sends his acknowledgment of the appointment.’

Kevin bore up as best he could. Despite today’s call to council, and the selection of a new Warlord, the barbarian
remained unconvinced that Ichindar was as much a slave to tradition as his Lady thought. Yet he chose to say nothing. Within a half hour a messenger in white and gold livery entered, with a company of the Imperial Whites. They carried a mantle of snowy feathers, the edges trimmed in shining gold. They bowed before the chair of Omechan and presented the cloak to Axantucar.