Next all in the room saw Teani call out to Shimizu beyond the door. Though her image made no sound, the lips could easily be read, and a moment later the Strike Leader appeared. The words of the exchange could not be guessed, but Teani’s expression shifted, becoming so animal and basic that several guests gasped in surprise. Shimizu abruptly left the frame of the spell, and all in the room saw Teani draw a knife from her sleeve. With no visible provocation, she launched herself from the cushions, striking out at the figure of Mara. Whatever claim Jingu might offer in defence, now no doubt remained that a servant of the Minwanabi had attacked the Lady of the Acoma. The Lord of the Minwanabi’s surety of safety was broken.
For the first time any Lord of the Empire could recall, Jingu showed pallor in public. Perspiration appeared upon his upper lip, while before him the drama of the hour before continued to unfold. The Strike Leader Shimizu re-entered the room, and after a brief and bitter struggle received a wound from her knife. All stared in fascination as he hurled the concubine through the doorway. Wooden railings shattered in soundless impact; and Teani fell to her death, leaving only a spectral impression of a face contorted with hatred, horror, and desperate fear imprinted in the memories of the guests. For an instant the crowded room seemed suspended and motionless. Then, assuming the drama was concluded, a few guests murmured appalled remarks. Mara stole the moment to glance at the Lord of the Minwanabi.
His expression showed calculation, and his small eyes, faint hope. If Teani had acted the renegade, then Shimizu had preserved his honour in killing her; should the image stop here, he was safe. But the face of the Great One showed neither sternness nor sympathy beneath the dark shadow of his hood. His spell continued to unreel, and in the midst of the chamber the Minwanabi Strike Leader spun into a battle crouch and advanced upon the Lady of the Acoma.
Jingu stiffened as if touched by an executioner’s sword point. Shimizu’s broad back prevented any in the room from seeing what Lady Mara might have said, but after a short exchange of words, the warrior’s blade rose and swiftly fell. Mara could be seen rolling in the corner. And cautiously, surreptitiously, those guests beside their host began to edge away, as if his shame were a contaminant that might spread on contact. Arakasi’s courageous intervention became aftermath, as around the room guest after guest turned eyes of judgment and contempt upon the Lord of the Minwanabi.
Clearly the image had said enough. Into a strangling stillness Elgahar mumbled a few phrases, and the alien blue-white light was extinguished. Mara let air back into cramped lungs, shaking still with suspense. Her danger was not over yet.
Beside the Lord of the Minwanabi stood Almecho, an evil delight in his expression. Costly embroidery flashed as he raised his shoulders in an elaborate shrug. ‘Well, Jingu. That seems a clear enough assault upon your guests. First the girl, then the warrior. You have enthusiastic servants, don’t you?’
Jingu showed no sign of turmoil. Racked by emotions only he could know, he glared first at Mara, then at the muscled and bleeding form of his Strike Leader. Those closest heard him whisper, ‘Why? Shimizu, you were my most trusted warrior. What drove you to this act?’
Shimizu’s lips curled in agony. Whatever excuse he gave regarding the machinations of Teani, his actions had already condemned his master to die to expiate the shame to his honour. ‘The witch betrayed us,’ he said simply, and whether he referred to Mara or Teani was unclear.
‘You madman!’ screamed Jingu, and his vehemence rocked all in the room. ‘Stupid get of a diseased bitch, you’ve killed me!’ Without thought, he drew a dagger from beneath his robe and lunged forward. Before any could react to his rage, he slashed backhanded across Shimizu’s exposed neck. Severed arteries shot a fountain of blood, spattering fine robes and bringing a scream from a weak-nerved Lady. Shimizu tottered in uncomprehending confusion. His hands fumbled futilely as the life spurted between his fingers, and his great shoulders sagged as he realized his own death was upon him.
Matters of betrayal and lies, twisted desires and misplaced love, all now became meaningless. He sank back. Almost peaceful as he welcomed the hand of Turakamu, he whispered last words to his master. ‘I thank my Lord for granting me death by the blade.’
Shimizu nodded finally to Mara, a silent salute for her victory. Then his eyes went vacant, and the hands that had sought her life fell slack. Sprawled in death at the feet of the elaborately clothed guests, he seemed a fitting symbol of Jingu’s defeat. In the Game of the Council, the Lord of the Minwanabi was ruined.
Almecho broke the silence. ‘That was impulsive, Jingu. The warrior might have had something more to say. A pity.’