Servant of the Empire (86 page)

A thoughtful pause made the most of general murmurs of agreement from the galleries. Mara resumed. ‘Those who doubt me may stand aside and face whatever comes to them, firm in the knowledge they can rely upon their own wit and resources. Those who accept my call for clan unity and cast their lot with mine shall have the Acoma beside them to face whatever dangers may arise. For, my Lords, if anyone believes the Great Game can be ended because the Light of Heaven so commands, let that man remove himself from power and seek out a temple to pray for mercy. For that man is a fool, and only by the gods’ indulgence will he and his family survive the days to come.

‘I offer a better choice,’ she cried in the loudest voice she had employed so far. ‘You may continue as you have done, a small clan, empty of promise, or you may rekindle the fire
that our ancestors once used to light their way. Tasaio of the Minwanabi will fall or I will fall. If I fail’ – she looked directly at Lord Chekowara – ‘do you think Tasaio will not plunge our Empire into civil war? What family is strong enough to stop him, with the Omechan in disgrace?’ She sat back and quietened her tone, so that all in the galleries had to lean forward to attend her. ‘But if I succeed, then one of the Five Great Families will vanish. Another family must rise to fill that seat. Most would assume the Anasati would claim the honour, or perhaps the Shinzawai. This is yet to be written. I say the prize might also fall to the Acoma. The clan of the ascendant family will rise in standing, and those who are kinsmen of that Ruling Lord will number among the mighty’ – she waved the document – ‘and the wealthy.’

The old Lord of the Jinguai had not moved from his seat throughout the entire proceedings, but now he stood. His back might be stooped with age, but his tones were firm as he called, ‘Mara! I name Mara of the Acoma my Warchief!’

Another Lord joined his call, followed by a chorus of others from the upper galleries. Suddenly many were shouting, and in consternation, Lord Benshai of the Chekowara realized that the majority of the clan were upon their feet hailing Mara. At last, as the commotion began to subside, the Lady of the Acoma regarded the former Warchief. ‘Benshai, surrender the staff.’

The Lord of the Chekowara looked sour. He hesitated an almost imprudent interval, then held out the short wooden staff with ceremonial carvings that marked the rank of Warchief. As Mara accepted the token of office, he gave a shallow, stiff bow and backed to the first seat next to the dais, the position reserved for the second most powerful Lord in the clan. Others reorganized themselves accordingly down to the chair that had formerly been Mara’s, while those of lesser rank remained undisturbed.

With clan order readjusted, Mara waved a hand to
indicate the gathering. ‘All of you shall be counted loyal and faithful friends. From this moment forward, let it be known that the Hadama is again a clan in both name and deed. For, kinsmen, trying times are coming, days to make the Night of the Bloody Swords seem a mild disturbance unless we undertake plans to prevent such a pass.

‘I call upon Clan Honour!’ With those formal words a shock ran through the room. Lords exclaimed aloud in surprise and consternation, for by her choice of phrasing, Mara proclaimed beyond recall that whatever came next impacted upon not only the honour of the Acoma, but that of the entire clan. No Lord would dare such a move in a capricious or trivial way, for the invocation bound every family within the clan to stand with the Acoma. Should any Warchief embroil clans in conflict, the stability of the Empire could be overturned. The point did not have to be reiterated, that to threaten social continuity would invite intervention by the Great Ones. More than the wrath of the Emperor, or even the vengeance of the gods, the Tsurani feared the Assembly of Magicians, those whose words were as law.

Yet Mara allayed the worst fear, that she might use a Call to Clan Honour for her own ends. ‘The first duty of Clan Hadama is to serve the Empire!’

In a flurry of relief, all in the room cried out, ‘Yes! To serve the Empire!’

‘I tell you this: all that I undertake from this day forward is not for the glory of the Acoma, but to serve the Empire. You, my brave and loyal kinsmen, have cast your lot with mine. Know by my word that no matter what may come, I act for the good of all.’

Like a change in tide, the undercurrent of conversation faltered. Mara placed Clan Hadama under a dreadful burden, for with those ritual words, ‘good of the Empire’, she committed her clan to a course that could end only in victory or in utter destruction.

Yet before the mutters could swell into cohesive protest, Mara swept on. ‘From this day, all party affiliations outside the clan are ended, save those with the Blue Wheel and Jade Eye.’ Several Lords nodded in approval, while others, whose political interests lay elsewhere, scowled their displeasure. Yet no one spoke out. ‘All ties with factions outside the clan must be made known to me,’ Mara demanded. ‘I shall not force any of you to act dishonourably or forget vows, but in the days to come, some of us will find that former friends become the most bitter of foes.’ She took a deep breath, as if waiting for a challenge.

‘Look around this room, my Lords. These are your family, upon whom you may depend. The ancient ties of blood have today been renewed. Any man, no matter how highly placed, who raises a hand against even the least of my kinsmen raises his hand against me. Our clan heritage has fallen to disunity for generations. No more. For whosoever strikes at my kinsman strikes at me. My army has been divided, my Lords, and fully one half of my warriors under a newly promoted Force Leader stand ready to answer should you call.’ She let that sink in, then added, ‘And when the coming dark days have passed, it is my intention to meet again in this room, and to see no absent faces among us. For as a mother shatra bird brings food to her young and spreads her wings to shelter them, so shall I be to you, one who feeds her family and protects them.’

Most of the Lords in the hall stood at this, and the ones least in rank and strength cheered in appreciation of Mara’s vow. Even the most powerful who had been displaced were forced to look upon their new Warchief with respect. And if the Lord of the Chekowara’s dark face held other than admiration for the woman who had replaced his primacy in the clan, he hid his sour feelings as he stood and applauded her brave words.

Only Kevin observed with a man’s perception, and he did
not miss the flash of bitterness in Lord Benshai’s eyes. Although the Midkemian himself felt warmed that his Lady had dared to turn his influence upon her thinking into public policy, he wondered with concern whether she had yet again won many new allies at the price of creating another mortal foe.

The Keeper of the Imperial Seal paused with a keljir candy halfway raised to his mouth. Caught at a loss, he visibly sagged when he saw who called upon him. He shoved his bulk from his cushions with a suppressed grunt of effort and adjusted his robes around his girth. ‘My Lady of the Acoma. What a … surprise.’

Glancing at the apologetic servant who stood behind Mara, the Keeper understood that Mara and her not inconsiderable entourage had simply swept past the usual maze of servants, depriving the Keeper of the news an important visitor was approaching.

The candy was suddenly an embarrassment. The Keeper of the Imperial Seal dropped it hastily back into the bowl, though it was unwrapped already and beginning to melt in the heat. He wiped his sticky palm on his sash, since the robe he was wearing had inconveniently short sleeves. Then he extended his palm to his visitor.

Mara took the proffered hand and let the man lead her to a seat before his writing desk. As the official stowed his bulk on his cushions, he wheezed, ‘Are you well?’

‘I am well, my Lord Keeper,’ she replied with the faintest hint of deference.

‘Word holds that you’ve risen to primacy in your clan.’ The Keeper of the Imperial Seal wasted no time retrieving his sweet. ‘Much honour to you, I think.’

Mara inclined her head as if accepting a compliment.

Around a softening mouthful of candy, the official said, ‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit?’

‘I think you know, Webara.’ By the shift to first-name usage, Mara indicated her demand that she be treated with all honour due her rise in station. She removed a roll of parchment from her sleeve. ‘I hold a warrant under Imperial Seal for trading concessions and now I require my claim to be made public.’

Webara forced a friendly smile and shrugged. ‘Mara, you may do anything you wish.’ His reciprocal use of her first name showed that he claimed still to hold position in power equal to hers. ‘You may employ runners of the Commercial Guild of Messengers to carry word of your exclusive trading rights to the far corners of the Empire, for all it matters.’

Taken aback, Mara fought not to show surprise. ‘I assumed that when the time was appropriate, the imperial messengers would undertake the duty of posting such notices.’

‘They would do so if I directed them.’ Webara inspected his robe over his navel and removed a flake of keljir leaf that had stuck itself to the fabric. ‘However, as the rifts are not under imperial control, I am not concerned with who uses them.’

Mara bit back outrage. ‘What is this? I hold exclusive trading rights!’

Webara gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘Mara, let me be blunt. You hold trading rights with the barbarian world. While it can be argued that no one else is entitled to import the commodities you have licensed, still, you hold no monopoly on the use of a rift on another’s lands. Neither of the two rifts is under imperial jurisdiction.’

‘Who controls them?’ Despite her best efforts, Mara’s query came out acerbic. She blotted sweating hands, worried now, for yesterday’s bold advancement had been based upon her use of her licence to control certain Midkemian imports.

Like many officials whose post held hollow forms that
brought pomp but poor prestige, Webara sensed at once that he had the upper hand. He sucked on his sweet and twined his fingers across his ample stomach. ‘The first rift is upon the lands of a man named Netoha of the Chichimechas, near the city of Ontoset.’ His self-satisfied manner informed more plainly than words that this man might be difficult to convince when it came to granting access for trade purposes.

‘Where is the second rift?’ Mara asked through a stab of annoyance.

Webara returned an unctuous smile. ‘The other rift is located to the north, somewhere within the City of the Magicians.’ He smacked his lips as the last of his candy dissolved. In sugary tones, he added the unnecessary: ‘It is controlled by the Assembly, of course.’

The man’s patronizing scorn galled as deeply as insult. Mara arose without the grace of any courtesies. Certain the Keeper of the Imperial Seal was gloating at her frustration, she swept from the chamber without a word or a single glance back.

The chuckle that followed her departure into the corridor went unheard. Plunged into furious thought, Mara frowned. Her escort of warriors fell into step behind her without the benefit of any signal. Their mistress was too preoccupied with her own mistake to attend to such details. She had made an assumption, and paid. Acting on power she did not entirely have, she had presumed that the reopened rift would be under imperial control, as the last had been; then her warrant would have given her undisputed access.

But the magicians were far too capricious and powerful a body to approach, and this Netoha might certainly prove intractable. Mara uttered one of Kevin’s favourite curses under her breath. Whoever Lord Netoha was, or whomever he held as allies, she was going to set Arakasi to the task of
sounding his strengths and weaknesses. She had to gain access to a rift. Her newly won position as Clan Warchief depended upon this; and if she was thwarted in her needs, her house was set on perilous ground, both militarily and financially.

If she was frustrated – Mara forced herself to keep breathing evenly, to walk as though nothing were troubling her – Tasaio must not find out, or she begged swift ruin, not only for herself, but for all of Clan Hadama as well.

Arakasi reported back within the hour of Mara’s return to her town house. Agitated still over her dilemma concerning trade concessions, the Lady of the Acoma immediately summoned the Spy Master into her presence in the garden courtyard. There, surrounded by perfectly groomed flower beds and the songs of fountains that did not soothe, Mara asked point blank for information concerning the man Netoha, upon whose estate the secondary rift to the barbarian world was reputed to lie.

As if her need had been anticipated, perhaps because of her desire to free Kevin, Arakasi had an astonishing supply of ready facts. He completed his bow, his secretive features more than usually impassive. ‘The magic gate is not located upon Netoha’s lands by chance. He was the hadonra of the renegade magician, Milamber, who resided there before his expulsion from the Assembly. My inquiries established that the man had been a servant or hadonra of the previous owner of that luckless property.’

Arakasi paused at this, for Tsurani superstition held against occupying residences or employing the servants of those fallen from power; when a lord or a family lost favour with the gods, his goods, his lands, and his staff were believed to be accursed along with him. Yet Milamber had been a barbarian, no doubt ignorant of such points. And ill luck had dogged him also. Arakasi shrugged Tsurani
fashion. ‘But while both Netoha’s masters have fallen upon ill fortune, his cause seems on the rise. Through some distant relation, he was able to claim kinship with the Chichimechas, who needed capital at the time. An arrangement was made. Now Netoha of the Chichimechas is fourth in line for succession to the Ruling Lordship of a tiny house, and he’s in good standing with the Hunzan Clan.’