Servant of the Empire (79 page)

Yet Mara dared not speculate openly. If they chose, magicians were capable of knowing the minds of those in their presence. She could not disallow the part that magic had played in the downfall of Jingu of the Minwanabi. Politely she said, ‘Great One, I need the wisdom of one such as yourself, to serve the Empire.’

The man nodded. ‘Then we shall speak.’

Mara excused her advisers and led the way through a screen onto an adjacent porch furnished with low stone benches. As Fumita took a seat, Mara stole the moment to study him. His hair was deep brown, shot with the beginnings of grey. The face was clean-lined and angular, and the nose more aquiline than the son’s. The dark eyes were markedly similar, except that in the Great One the depths of mystery were veiled and unfathomable.

He rested himself upon a stone bench. Mara chose a seat opposite, a narrow path separating them.

‘What do you wish to discuss?’ Fumita asked.

‘A matter weighs upon me, Great One,’ Mara began. She took a deep breath and searched for a proper beginning. ‘Like many, I was in attendance at the Imperial Games.’

If the Great One had any feelings left over from that day, he kept them masked. His piercing attentiveness unnerved her worse than Hokanu’s directness. He was not unapproachable, but neither did he warm into welcome. ‘Yes?’

‘It is said that the Great One who was … the centre of the disruption freed the combatants who refused to fight.’

‘This is true.’ Noncommittal still, Fumita waited for Mara to continue.

He could not have made himself more plain had he spoken. She would have to plunge ahead on her own and risk the consequences. ‘This is my concern,’ Mara said. ‘If a Great One may free slaves, then who else may? The Emperor? The Warlord? A Ruling Lord?’

The magician said nothing for some time. During an interval that felt as strange as the isolation a fish might feel in a pond, Mara was aware of the breeze across the porch, and of a servant making the rounds of the estate house. Down the path, the broom strokes of a slave who was sweeping sounded preternaturally loud. These things were part of her world, yet somehow seemed sealed away as the eyes of the magician remained pinned unwaveringly upon her. When Fumita spoke at last, his tone had not altered; the words remained inflectionless and bitten off sharply. ‘Mara of the Acoma, your question shall be raised in the Assembly.’

Without further words, and before she could proffer reply, he reached into the pocket at his belt and removed a small metal object. Mara had no chance to express curiosity, even had she dared, before he ran his thumb across the surface of the talisman. The gesture seemed like one he had made many times. A faint buzzing suddenly surrounded him. Then the magician vanished. The stone bench stood empty, and an eddy of air teased the trappings of Mara’s robe.

Left open-mouthed, and distinctly at a loss, Mara shivered slightly. She frowned, as if the space where the magician had sat might answer her dissatisfaction. She had never tried dealing with a Great One, beyond that single encounter which had finalized Lord Jingu’s demise. This was the first time she had tried an overture on her own initiative, and the aftermath left her unsettled. There was no
fathoming the ways of the Assembly. She shivered again, and wished herself back in her blankets with Kevin.

The barge docked.

Seated on cushions beneath the canopy with a cup of fruit juice in her hand, Mara squinted against the morning sunlight reflected off the water. Rocked by the rhythm of the polemen as they expertly manoeuvred her craft through the press of commercial boats at the wharf, the Lady recalled Nacoya’s disapproval of her trip to Kentosani. Yet, looking over the traffic that jammed the dockside, and counting the merchant barges at anchor waiting to unload, Mara judged Arakasi’s assessment was the correct one. At least on the streets and public squares, the city had recovered from the chaos let loose upon it at the Imperial Games six months before.

To Mara, this seemed an opportune time to return to the Holy City. Nacoya was right to suspect that Mara’s motive – visiting a minor political opponent to change his alliance – was deeper, but Mara revealed her thoughts to no one.

Once her barge tied up to the wharf, she surrendered her abandoned fruit juice to a servant, called for her litter, and assembled her honour guard. She had brought only twenty-five warriors in her retinue; her stop was intended to be brief, and she was not worried about assassins. Both the Assembly and the Emperor were likely to look disfavourably on public disorder; any killing by a tong in the Emperor’s city would bring a much deeper investigation than any family would risk at this time. Except for a minimum of servants, and her boat crew, Mara had only Kevin and Arakasi in attendance.

The heat was already stifling. As the Acoma guards began
the chore of clearing traffic from the Lady’s intended path, Kevin pushed back damp hair from his brow. ‘So why did you really make this trip?’

Dressed in a finer robe than she usually chose for street travel, Mara looked between the curtains of her litter, which were cracked open to admit the relief of the passing breeze. ‘You asked Arakasi that scarcely an hour ago.’

‘And he told me the same lie, that we’re going to pay a social call on Lord Kuganchalt of the Ginecho. I don’t believe it.’

Mara extended her fan through the curtains and tapped his wrist in reproof. ‘Were you a free man, I would be obliged to challenge that statement. To accuse me of lying is to insult Acoma honour.’

Kevin caught the fan, playfully disarmed her, and returned the item with an exaggerated flourish, in imitation of a Tsurani suitor of a lesser house paying court to a Lady of higher station. ‘You didn’t lie exactly,’ he admitted, and grinned as Mara smothered a laugh at his clowning behind her now opened fan. He paused a step, reminded of how dear she was to him; then he doggedly pursued the subject. ‘You just didn’t tell what’s on your mind.’

The litter bearers turned a corner and swerved to avoid a stray dog being chased by street urchins. They were after the bone it had stolen, and were moving too fast and chaotically for her soldiers to change their course. As always, Kevin noticed their poor clothes and evidence of sores and sickness upon them, and felt sad. He only half heard Mara’s explanation: Lord Kuganchalt was an important if minor ally of the Lord of the Ekamchi and the Lord of the Inrodaka. Those two held sway in a small faction allied firmly against her since her winning of the cho-ja Queen from a hive near Inrodaka lands. She allowed that a contact with the Ginecho would at least give her an opportunity to explain her side of the dispute, perhaps
even to drive a wedge between the Ginecho and the two disaffected Lords.

‘House Ginecho took heavy losses with Almecho’s fall,’ Mara qualified. ‘They were heavily indebted to the Omechan, and the Warlord’s two disgraces caused the debts all to come due much earlier than the old Lord of the Ginecho could have expected. He died, it is said, of the strain, though others whisper suicide. Still others claim poison was set in his dish by an enemy. Whatever the reason, his young son, Kuganchalt, has inherited his mantle, along with a heavy financial burden. I judge this an auspicious time for an overture.’

Kevin’s lips thinned in annoyance. She said this though she knew he had been present when Arakasi allowed that Kuganchalt’s court was riddled through with cousins who were Ekamchi and Inrodaka loyalists, a few of whom probably had orders to commit murder should the inexperienced boy act in any way to the detriment of his two allies. Kevin had commented that a few might be motivated to speed the young Lord along to the halls of the Red God without any urging from Mara’s two enemies. Nacoya warned Mara that entering Kuganchalt’s town house would be stepping into a nest of swamp relli; Mara, she berated, was deaf to good advice when larger issues were on her mind.

As litter and bearers rounded another corner, and sunlight fell through the curtains, Kevin became aware that the Lady was looking at him. Too often he had the feeling she could read his thoughts from his face, and this was one such time. ‘The Ginecho would expect us to try to rearrange their alliance,’ she pointed out with mischievous gentleness. ‘Ekamchi went to such trouble to buy the loyalty of so many members of Kuganchalt’s family, and Inrodaka underwrote most of the expense. They would all be terribly disappointed if the Acoma failed to put in an appearance. We will go, and
give them what they want, which is belief in their own self-importance. Inrodaka and Ekamchi must always be led to believe that their enmity is of some consequence. It keeps them from allying with my other enemies.

‘Gods help us if they discover the truth: that the Acoma have gained enough standing that their minor plotting has no impact; then they might brew worse mischief than they do already, just to attract attention, or do something really destructive, such as throwing their support to Tasaio.’

Kevin snorted out a laugh. ‘You mean you’re going to pat the little guy with a grudge on the head, just to keep him from getting really irate, in case he thinks you’ve forgotten he’s got bones to pick, so he doesn’t get nasty and go out and find a bigger bone to pick?’

‘Inelegantly spoken,’ Mara said. ‘But yes.’

Kevin swore in Midkemian.

Somewhat nettled, Mara twitched the curtains back. ‘That’s rude. Now what do you mean?’

Her barbarian lover gave her a long look and shrugged. ‘In polite language, your Great Game of the Council ingests water from an infested swamp. One could say it quite often borders on the absurd.’

‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’ Mara leaned an elbow on her cushions and gazed at one of the huge stone temples that bordered both sides of the avenue.

Kevin followed her glance, by now well enough versed in the Tsurani pantheon to recognize the temple of Lashima, Goddess of Wisdom. Here, he recalled, Mara had spent months in study, in the hope of taking vows of service. The deaths of her father and brother had drastically changed that fate.

As though her own reminiscence followed his into the past, Mara said, ‘You know, I miss the quiet.’ Then she smiled. ‘But nothing else, really. The temple priestesses are even more bound to tradition and ritual than the great
houses are. Now I cannot imagine being happy with such a life.’ She tipped a wicked glance at Kevin. ‘And certainly I would have missed out on some very enjoyable bed sport.’

‘Well,’ said Kevin, running irreverent eyes over the walls that surrounded the temple grounds, ‘maybe not – given luck, a length of stout rope, and a determined man.’ He bent over, cupped her chin, and kissed her as they walked along. ‘I’m a very determined man.’

From the other side of the litter, Arakasi shot the couple a black look.

‘You never will act the proper slave,’ Mara murmured. ‘I suppose we shall have to look over the precedent set in the arena by the Great One who was your countryman, and seek a legal way to set you free.’

Kevin missed a step. ‘That’s why we’re back in Kentosani! You’re going to look up the fine points of the law and see what’s changed since the games?’ He strode out, reestablished position at Mara’s side, and grinned. ‘Patrick might forget himself and kiss you.’

Mara made a face. ‘That would certainly earn him a beating! The man never bathes.’ Shaking her head, she added, ‘No, that’s not my reason for being here. If we can find the time, we’ll visit the Imperial Archives. But the Lord of the Ginecho comes first.’

‘Life would be so dull without enemies,’ Kevin quipped, but this time his Lady did not rise to the bait. Beyond the precinct of the temples, the avenue narrowed, and traffic became too thick to allow for conversation. Kevin fought against the press of the heavy crowds, using his greater height to prevent his Lady’s litter from being jostled. He realized that his years of captivity had not been entirely unhappy ones; he might not love all aspects of Tsurani society – the misery of the poor would never cease to bother him. But given the chance to become a free man, and stay at Mara’s side, he would choose this alien world as home. His
horizons had widened since he had fought in the Riftwar. For him, a younger son, return to his father’s estate at Zun would offer poor prospects, no substitute for the excitement he had found in foreign and exotic Tsuranuanni.

So caught up in his thoughts was he that when Mara’s small retinue arrived at the Acoma town house, he did not raise his customary protest when the head servant there commanded him forthwith to unload the Lady’s carry boxes and heft them up to her chambers.

Midday passed, and the heat lessened. Bathed and refreshed since her journey, Mara prepared for her visit to the Lord of the Ginecho. Kevin declined the chance to attend her, insisting he would be unable to keep a straight face through the proceedings. In fact, Mara knew him to be fascinated with the markets of the Holy City, and in wistful reflection she agreed that an afternoon of shopping with the head servant of the house was bound to be more interesting than exchanging stilted small talk and veiled insults with a seventeen-year-old boy whose eyes were still puffed from weeping over his father. She indulged Kevin’s excuse and let him stay, and instead took Arakasi, unobtrusively clad as a servant. The Ginecho were too minor a house to warrant close observation by Arakasi’s agents, and the Spy Master himself desired the opportunity to pursue gossip with the house servants.

The litter departed from the town house courtyard in the late afternoon, accompanied by twenty warriors, a suitable number to impress Lord Ginecho that his enmity was taken seriously. For quickness, the entourage held to back streets, less packed with traffic.