The Complete Empire Trilogy. Janny Wurts
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the Warlord. As Almecho cast one last glance at Mara, Kamatsu said, ‘We will take up no more of your time, Lord, for you have many others waiting to greet you. May the gods smile down upon this celebration of your birthday.’
The Warlord had no choice but to face the next of his guests. By then Mara had regained some of her composure. She silently thanked the gods for the return of her wits and inclined her head in grateful appreciation to the Lord of the Shinzawai. Kamatsu was moving away from the receiving line, but he returned a slight nod. His manner reflected something she had not seen since she had entered the boundaries of the Minwanabi estates: sympathy. The Shinzawai Lord might not be an ally, but he had showed himself no enemy either. He had risked much by interrupting Almecho’s sport, yet the act had been boldly accomplished. While the father departed, Mara saw that the son lingered, his dark eyes following her. She gave the young man a subtle smile but dared not voice her thanks, lest the Lord of the Minwanabi come to believe the Acoma and the Shinzawai held pact against him. Nacoya urgently tugged her sleeve, hastening her steps towards the relative obscurity of a corner.
‘You must leave this place, Mara-anni,’ the First Adviser urged as soon as they had a moment to themselves. While Papewaio positioned himself between his mistress and the assembly of guests, she qualified. ‘You have no allies here, with the Warlord making sport of the Acoma. If you stay, you will lose your life, and Keyoke will face a war to protect Ayaki. Better the shame of flight than to risk the loss of the natami.’
Mara sat on an embroidered cushion and fought the weariness that dragged at her shoulders and back. ‘We cannot leave now.’
‘Girl, we must!’ Closer than she had ever come to a public expression of fear, the old woman sank down by her mistress’s knee. ‘The continuance of the Acoma is at stake.’
Mara gently patted her First Adviser’s hand. ‘Mother of my heart, we cannot run from this confrontation. Not only would our stock in the game fall far enough that we would deserve to become the butt of Almecho’s humour, but I doubt we would escape alive. If we somehow could flee over the borders of the Minwanabi estates, we would find ourselves vulnerable to open attack by “bandits” with no risk to Jingu. Here, with his surety, we have a chance of preserving our lives.’
‘Don’t count on this, mistress,’ Nacoya said sourly. ‘Jingu of the Minwanabi would never have brought the daughter of Sezu here if he thought to let her escape. For you this place is like a nest of poisoned thorns, filled with a hundred deadly traps. With even the gods’ favour, you could not avoid them all.’
Mara straightened, stung by a spark of anger. ‘You think me a girl still, old mother. That is a mistake. Jingu’s threats and even the Warlord’s ridicule will not make me shame my ancestors. Somehow, by cunning or by politics, we will escape this trap and triumph.’
Though as frightened inside as Nacoya, Mara managed the words with conviction. The elderly woman heard, and was comforted, while across the room Hokanu of the Shinzawai observed the proud bearing of Mara of the Acoma. She had admirable courage for one so young. If Minwanabi wished her dead, his plot would need to be deviously woven, for this girl was a true daughter of her father.
The afternoon progressed tediously after that. Jingu of the Minwanabi had arranged for musicians, tumblers, and a one-act farce in the Segumi style. Yet even with the Warlord’s Great Ones in attendance, the Tsurani love of the arts could not completely eclipse the lure of politics. Several Lords had hoped to exploit the fact that Almecho had overextended his position in the wars on the barbarian world. Now, with the two magicians who controlled all passage between Kelewan and Midkemia seated like the shadows of midnight in their midst, even the boldest Lords dared not seek support for their plots. Mara overheard many expressions of annoyance that Almecho should flaunt his ties with the Great Ones at what should have been a celebration in his honour.
As the curtains fell following the actors’ final bows, Desio of the Minwanabi stepped onto the wooden platform erected for the performance. His tread echoed hollowly on the boards as he strode to centre stage, his arms raised for silence.
Heads turned, and whispered conversations stilled. Desio lowered his hands with a ruffle of feathered cuffs and made his announcement. ‘Minwanabi scouts have brought word of an outbreak of trouble on the river. A band of water pirates has swept down from the north, and two barges have been robbed and burned near the borders of this estate.’ A murmur swept the hall, then stilled as the heir of the Minwanabi added more. ‘Lord Jingu has heard the Warlord’s request that his birthday celebrations not be spoiled by bloodshed. To this end, he has ordered the chain beneath the prayer gate raised, cutting off the inlet from the lake. Any barge attempting passage from the river will be burned on sight, and any guests wishing to leave this celebration early should inform us of their intention, that the warriors on duty can let them out.’ Desio finished with a deferential bow, and a pointed smile at the Lady of the Acoma. Then tumblers replaced him on the stage, and the party for the Warlord resumed.
Mara managed not to show resentment at this latest plot of Minwanabi’s. Not only had he managed to make any attempt at departure a public admission of cowardice, but he had neatly given himself an excuse if a guest chanced to be slaughtered on the river beyond his gates. Not even a messenger could be sent to the Acoma estates without Jingu’s knowledge. Mara glanced at Papewaio and knew by his tired eyes that he understood; even Keyoke could not be warned. The stakes were now higher than any of her advisers had anticipated. If she died, very likely an attack on Avaki would occur before word of her demise reached the Acoma estates.
An old friend of her father’s, Pataki of the Sida, passed near her table, and bowed politely. In a voice that only Mara and Nacoya could hear, he said, ‘You would be wise to send your bodyguard away to rest.’
‘Your advise is sound, my Lord.’ She smiled and tried to look less tired. ‘But I suggested the same thing earlier, and Papewaio said he did not care to sleep.’
The aged Lord nodded, aware as they all were that the warrior’s dedication was not misplaced. ‘Be wary, daughter of Sezu,’ Pataki said. ‘Almecho has little love for Jingu. He would enjoy seeing Minwanabi ambition blunted, but he needs their support in his little war on the barbarian world. So should Jingu manage to kill you without shame, Almecho would do nothing against him.’ For a moment the Lord of the Sida regarded the dais where the guests of honour sat dining. Almost reflectively he added, ‘Still, should Jingu be caught breaking his oath of surety for guests, Almecho would happily observe the ritual suicide.’ As if they had been speaking pleasantries, Pataki smiled. ‘Many here have a stake in what befalls the Acoma, my Lady. But none will act against you save the Minwanabi. At least you know your enemy.’
With sudden warmth, Mara returned a nod of respect. ‘I think I also know my friend as well, Lord Pataki.’
The old man laughed, feigning reaction to a witty remark. ‘The Sida and the Acoma have dealt honourably with each other for many generations.’ He glanced to his own table where two grandsons sat waiting. ‘Your father and I had even spoken of a possible alliance from time to time.’ His old eyes turned shrewd. ‘I would like to think you and I may someday speak of such things. Now I must return to my family. May the gods protect you, my Lady.’
‘And may the gods protect the Sida,’ Mara returned.
Nacoya leaned closer to Mara and whispered, ‘At least one here is a man like your father.’
Mara nodded. ‘Yet even he will not lend a hand when Jingu acts.’ The weak had been known to die in public with no outcry from observers, so long as the forms were observed. Minwanabi would strike. The only question was when.
Beyond the opened screens, dusk shadowed the shoreline, and the lake gleamed like a sheet of hammered silver in the afterglow. Stars pricked the zenith one by one, while slaves with wicks and oil jars made their rounds to light the lamps. Soon full darkness would fall, and then the danger would increase. Mara followed the other guests to the banquet hall, doing her best to match their mood of gaiety and enjoyment. But with all her heart she wished for a warrior’s role, to fight with armour and sword until death found herself or her enemies; to walk in fear through a crowd who smiled and laughed was to be undone one strand