The Complete Empire Trilogy. Janny Wurts
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a glance away from the injured man, Papewaio saluted with his sword. ‘They hesitated when they saw our lines – that was their mistake. Had they continued their charge, our losses would have been worse.’ The man on the ground groaned as the bandage tightened over his wound. ‘Not so taut,’ snapped Papewaio, seemingly forgetting the waiting presence of his Lord.
But Buntokapi was too elated from victory to mind the lapse. Leaning on his bloodied sword, he said, ‘How many casualties?’
Papewaio looked up, his attention focused for the first time. ‘I do not know yet, but few. Here, the Force Commander approaches.’ He turned with swift instructions for the care of his wounded warrior, then fell into step with the Lord of the Acoma.
Lujan joined them as they met Keyoke, dusty from his efforts in the clearing, and his plumes beaded with mist. The officers consolidated their information with a minimum of words, and Buntokapi’s heart swelled with pride. He struck a playful blow to Keyoke’s shoulder. ‘See, they broke and we slaughtered the dogs, just as I said. Ha!’ He frowned, but not with displeasure. ‘Any prisoners?’
‘I think about thirty, my Lord,’ Lujan said, his voice queerly flat after the animated tones of his master. ‘Some will live long enough to become slaves. Who their officers were I cannot tell, since none wore helms of office. ‘He gave a thoughtful pause. ‘Nor house colours.’
‘Bah!’ Buntokapi spat. ‘These are Minwanabi’s dogs.’
‘At least one was.’ Lujan pointed to a man who lay dead not twenty feet distant. ‘That was a man I knew’ – he caught himself just short of revealing his odd origin – ‘before I first took house colours. He is the elder brother of a boyhood friend, and he took service with the Kehotara.’
‘Minwanabi’s favourite pet!’ Buntokapi waved his fouled sword as if the presence of a soldier of Jingu’s vassal proved his contention.
Lujan stepped out of range of the gesture, smiling slightly. ‘He was a bad man. He might have turned outlaw.’
Buntokapi shook his blade in Lujan’s face, any humour clearly beyond him. ‘This was no outlaw raid! That dog lover Jingu thinks the Acoma soft, and ruled by a woman. Well, he now knows he faced a man.’ He spun around, brandishing his weapon in the air. ‘I will send a runner to Sulan-Qu to buy a few rounds in the taverns by the docks. Jingu will know within a day I have tweaked his nose.’
Buntokapi brought his sword whistling downward. He stared at the drying blood, and after a moment of deliberation thrust the weapon into its tasselled sheath. A slave could polish it later. With an enthusiasm not shared by his officers, he said, ‘We shall sort this out at home. I am dirty and hungry. We leave now!’ And he began abruptly to march, leaving Keyoke and Papewaio and Lujan to organize the men, fix litters for the wounded, and hustle the companies on the road to the estate. The Lord of the Acoma wished to be home before dinner, and his company of battle-fatigued soldiers concerned him little. They could rest once they were back in their barracks.
As men rushed to form ranks, Papewaio looked at his Force Commander. Eyes met for a moment and both men shared a thought. This bullish man, barely more than a boy, was dangerous. As they parted to attend their duties, both prayed silently for Lady Mara.
Hours passed, and the shadows shortened. The sun climbed to the zenith while the needra herders returned from the meadows for the noon meal, and servants and slaves went about their chores as if no disaster were possible. Mara rested, attempting to read, but her mind refused to concentrate on the convoluted organization of lands and business owned by the dozens of major Lords and hundreds of minor ones in the Empire. One night, a month before, she had thought she recognized a pattern in the way one estate’s distant holdings were placed, then after hours of further study decided the perception had been an illusion. But such pursuits had given rise to another thought: where a family’s holdings lay, even those that appeared insignificant, could prove as important as any other fact in the nuances of the Game of the Council.
Mara pondered this new angle through the heat of the afternoon. Sundown came and went, and in the cooler air of evening she sat to a long and silent meal. The servants were subdued, which was unusual in the absence of their Lord. Feeling her pregnancy like a weight, Mara retired early to sleep. Her dreams were troubled. Several times in the night she started awake, her heart pounding and her ears straining for sounds of returning men; but instead of marching feet and the creak of armour, the night stillness held only the soft lowing of needra cows and the chirp of night insects. She had no clue how her husband and Keyoke fared against the raiders in the mountains, except that the peace of the estate remained unbroken. Just before the dawn she fell into a deep and oppressive sleep.
She woke with the sun on her face, having opened the screen in her restlessness during the night. Her morning maid had forgotten to close it, and the heat already made her sweat. Mara raised herself upon her pillows and suddenly felt ill. Without waiting to call for a servant, she hurried to the chamber for night soil and was sick to her stomach. The morning maid heard her distress and ran to attend her with cool cloths. Then she saw her mistress back to her mats and hastened to fetch Nacoya.
Mara stopped her at the door. ‘Nacoya has worries enough without adding more,’ she snapped and gestured grumpily at the open screen. The maid closed it hastily, but the shade did not help. Mara lay back, pale and sweating. Throughout the day she fretted, unable to concentrate upon the matters of commerce that had never before failed to hold her interest. Noon came, and the men did not return. Mara began to worry. Had Buntokapi fallen to a raider’s sword? Had the battle been won? The wait exhausted her, cloaking her mind in the shadows of doubt. Beyond the screen the sun crawled across the zenith, and Nacoya arrived with the midday meal. Grateful her illness had passed, Mara managed to eat a little fruit and some sweet cakes.
After her meal the Lady of the Acoma lay down to rest through the afternoon heat. Sleep eluded her. As the shadows of the leaves elongated slowly across the screens, she listened to the sounds outside diminish as the free workers retired to their huts. The slaves were not permitted this midday break, but whenever possible the work performed from midday to the fourth hour of the afternoon was the least strenuous of the day.
The waiting bore down like a thousand stones; even the cooks in the kitchen were cross. Distantly Mara heard a servant scolding a slave for some chore improperly done in the scullery. Impatient with the stillness, she rose, and when Nacoya appeared to inquire after her needs, Mara returned a snappish reply. The room fell silent. Later she refused the entertainment of musicians or poetry. Nacoya rose then and sought duties elsewhere.
Then, as the shadows slanted purple across the hills, the sound of the returning soldiers reached the estate house. Mara held her breath and recognized voices raised in song. Something inside her broke. Tears of relief wet her face, for if the enemy had triumphed they would have come with battle cries as they assaulted the remaining soldiers of the estate. Had Buntokapi been killed or the Acoma driven back from the attack, the warriors would have returned in silence. Instead, the lusty ring of voices through the late afternoon heat heralded a victory for the Acoma.
Mara rose and motioned for servants to open the door to the marshalling yard. Tired, but no longer tense, she waited with one hand on the doorframe while the Acoma companies marched into view, their bright green armour muted by a layer of dust. The officers’ plumes drooped from fatigue, but the men marched in even step and their song filled the air. The words might be ragged, for to many the verses were new; still, this was an Acoma victory. Old soldiers and former bandits alike sang with joy, for battle had knit them solidly together. The accomplishment was sweet after the grief that had visited this house scarcely one year before.
Buntokapi came straight to his wife and bowed slightly, a formality Mara found surprising. ‘My wife, we have been victorious.’
‘I am so very pleased, my husband.’ That her reply was genuine startled him in return. Her pregnancy seemed to be taxing her, for she did not look well.
Strangely abashed, Buntokapi qualified. ‘Minwanabi and Kehotara dogs garbed as grey warriors sought to marshal along the trail above our lands. They intended to strike us at first light, as all lay asleep.’