Servant of the Empire

Arakasi bowed, his movement stiff with distress. 'Mistress-'

Sharply Mara repeated, 'I have another task for you.'

Arakasi fell instantly silent: Tsurani custom forbade a servant questioning his sworn ruler; and moreover the Lady's mind was set. The hardness in her since the loss of her firstborn was not to be reasoned with; this much he recognised. That Hokanu sensed it also was plain, for even he refrained from speaking out against his Lady's chosen course of action. The uncomfortable truth remained unsaid: that no one else in Arakasi's vast network was either careful or experienced enough to counter a threat of this magnitude. The Spy Master would not disobey his mistress, though he were in mortal fear for her safety. All he could do was work in convoluted patterns, obeying her command in the literal sense, but evading what he could through general action. For the first, he must ensure that the man placed in nominal charge of digging out this new organisation could report to him on a regular basis. Disturbed as he was that Lady Mara should dismiss this dire threat with such ease, he respected her well enough to at least hear her reasons before he came to judgment against her. 'What is this other matter, my Lady?'

His attentive manner smoothed Mara's sharpness. 'I would have you discover as much as may be learned about the Assembly of Magicians.'

For the first time since taking service with Mara, Arakasi seemed startled by her audacity. His eyes widened and his voice dropped to a whisper. 'The Great Ones?'

Mara nodded toward Saric, since the slant the explanation must take had been his particular study.

He spoke up from the far side of the circle. 'Several events over the last few years have caused me to question the Black Robes' motives. By tradition we take for granted that they act for the good of our Empire. But would it not shed a different light on things if, in fact, that were not so?' Saric's wry humor dissolved before a burning intensity of unease as he added, 'Most critically, what if the Assembly's wisdom is pointed toward their own self-interest? The pretext is stability of the nations; then why should they fear the Acoma crushing the Anasati in the cause of just revenge?' The Acoma First Adviser leaned forward with his elbows braced on crossed knees. 'These magicians are hardly fools. I can't believe they don't realise that by allowing the Lord who murders by treachery to live unpunished, they plunge the Empire into strife most extreme. An unavenged death is an express contradiction of honor. Without the political byplay of the High Council, deprived of the constant give-and-take between factions as

a leavening agent, we are left with every house cast adrift, dependent upon the goodwill and promises of others to survive.'

To her Spy Master, Mara qualified, 'Within a year's time, a dozen houses or more will cease to exist, because I am forbidden to take the field against those who would return us to the Warlord's rule. I am rendered powerless in the political arena. My clan cannot raise sword against the traditionalists, who now use Jiro as their front man. If I cannot make war upon him, I can no longer keep my pledge to protect those houses who are dependent upon Acoma alliance.' Shutting her eyes for a moment, she seemed to gather herself.

Arakasi's regard of his Lady sharpened as he understood something: she had recovered from her mourning enough to have regained reason. She knew in her heart that the evidence against Jiro was too obvious to take seriously.

But the cost of her loss of control at the funeral must be met without flinching: she had shamed her family name, and Jiro's guilt or lack of it was moot point. To admit his innocence now was to make public admission of her error.

This she could not honorably do without a worse question arising. Did she believe her enemy was clean of Ayaki's blood, or was she simply backing down from exacting retribution for Ayaki? Not to avenge a murder was an irrevocable forfeit of honor.

Regret as she might the heat of her rage and her wrong thinking, Mara could do nothing but manage the situation as if all along she believed in the Anasati's treachery. To do other was not Tsurani, and a weakness that enemies would immediately exploit to bring her downfall.

As if to escape distasteful memories, Mara resumed,

'Within two years, many we would count allies will be dead or dishonored, and many more who are neutral might be persuaded or driven by political pressure into the traditionalist camp. The depleted Imperial Party will face off, but, without us, with the disastrous probability that a new Warlord will reinstate the Council. Should that sad day dawn, the man to wear the white-and-gold mantle would be Jiro of the Anasati.'

Arakasi rubbed his cheek with a knuckle, furiously thinking. 'So you think the Assembly may be tinkering in politics for the reason of its own agenda. It is true that the Black Robes have always been jealous of their privacy.

I know of no man who has entered their city and spoken of the experience. Lady Mara, to pry into that stronghold will be dangerous, and very difficult, if not outright impossible.

They have truth spells that make it impossible to insinuate someone into their ranks. I have heard stories . . . though I might not be the first Spy Master to attempt an infiltration, no one who crosses a Great One with deceit in his heart lives to a natural end.'

Mara's hands twisted into fists. 'We must find a way to know their motives. More, we must discover a way to stop their interference, or at least to gain a clear delineation of what parameters they have set us. We must know how much we may accomplish without raising their wrath. Over time, perhaps a means can be found to negotiate with them.'

Arakasi bowed his head, resigned, but already at work on the grand scale the problem required. He had never expected to live to old age; puzzles, even dangerous ones, were all the delight he understood, though the one his Lady had proposed was all too likely to invite a swift destruction.

'Your will, mistress. I shall begin at once to realign the interests of our agents to the northwest.' Negotiation was a futile hope, one Arakasi rejected at the outset. To bargain at all, one must have either force to command or a persuasive reward as enticement. Power and popularity Mara had, but he, too, had witnessed the display of a single magician's might when the Imperial Games had been disrupted by Milamber. Lady Mara's thousands of warriors, and those of all her friends and allies, were as nothing compared to the arcane forces the Assembly commanded. And what in the world under heaven could anyone have that a Great One could desire and not simply take for the asking?

Chilled, Arakasi considered the last alternative to effect coercion: extortion. If the Assembly held a secret that it would sHl favors to keep any others from knowing, something it would be willing to grant concessions for, to ensure Mara kept her silence . . . The very idea was sheer folly. The Great Ones were above any law. Arakasi judged it more likely that even should he be lucky enough to find such a secret, the Black Robes would simply seal Mara's permanent silence by putting her horribly to death.

Saric, Lujan, and Keyoke understood this, he sensed, for their eyes were upon him most closely as he rose and made his final bow. This time, Mara dared too much, and they all feared for the outcome. Cold to the core of his spirit, Arakasi turned away. Nothing about his manner indicated that he cursed a savage fate. Not only must he sidetrack what instinct warned might be the most perilous threat to target Lady Mara so far, but he would even have to abandon any effort at effecting a countermeasure. Whole sections of his vast operation must be rendered dormant until after he had cracked an enigma no man had ever dared attempt.

The riddle waited to be unraveled, beyond the shores of a nameless body of water, known only as the lake that surrounds the isle of the City of the Magicians.

Machinations

Two years passed.

No renewed attempts to assassinate the Lady of the Acoma came, and while all remained watchful, the sense of immediate risk had diminished.

The tranquility that settled over the estate house as predawn light rinsed the sleeping chamber was all the more to be treasured. Pressures brought on by recent unfavorable developments in trade and the friction between political factions steadily brought more stresses to bear upon House Acoma's resources.

But now, only patrols were stirring, and the day's messengers bearing news had yet to arrive. A shore bird called off the lake. Hokanu tightened his arms around his beloved Lady. His hands touched the ivory-smooth skin over her belly and a slight fullness there alerted him. Suddenly, the mornings she had closeted herself away from him and even her most trusted advisers made sense. An ecstatic flush of pleasure followed the obvious deduction. Hokanu smiled, his face pressed into the sweet waves of her hair.

'Have the midwives told you yet whether the new Acoma heir is to be a son or a daughter?'

Mara twisted in his arms, her eyes wide with indignation.

'I did not tell you I was pregnant! Which of my maids betrayed me?'

Hokanu said nothing; only his smile widened.

The Lady reached down, grasped his two wrists, which were locked around her still, and concluded, 'I see. My maids were all loyal, and I still cannot keep any secrets from you, husband.'

But she could; as clear as the rapport between them could be, there were depths to her that even Hokanu could not fathom, particularly since the death of her firstborn, as if grief had laid a shadow on her. Although her warmth as she laid her face against her husband was genuine, and her pleasure equally so as she whispered formally into his ear that he was soon going to be a father by blood, as well as through adoption, Hokanu sensed a darker undertone.

Mara was troubled by something, this time not related to Ayaki's loss, or to the Assembly's intervention in her attempt to bring vengeance on Jiro. Equally, he sensed that this was not the moment to broach any inquiry into her affairs.

'I love you, Lady,' he murmured. 'You had better accustom yourself to solicitude, because I'm going to spoil you shamelessly every day until the moment you give birth.' He turned her in his arms and kissed her.

'After that, we both might find I had acquired a habit too fine to break.'

Mara snuggled against him, her fingers trailing across his chest. 'You are the finest husband in the Empire, beloved far better than I deserve.'

Which was arguable, but Hokanu held his peace. He knew she loved him deeply and gave him as much care and satisfaction as any woman was capable of; the profoundly sensed certainty that something indefinable was missing from her side of the relationship was a feeling he had exhausted himself trying to fathom. For the Lady never lied to him, never stinted in her affections. Still she had moments when her thoughts were elsewhere, in a place he could never reach. She needed something his instincts warned him he lacked the means to provide.

A pragmatic man, he did not try to force the impossible, but built upon their years together a contentment and a peace that were enduring and solid as a monument. He had Machinations succeeded in giving her happiness, until the dart struck the horse that killed her son.

She shifted against him, her dark eyes apparently fixed upon the flower garden beyond the opened screen. Breezes caused her favorite kekali blossoms to nod, and their heavy perfume swirled through the chamber. Far off, the bread cook could be heard berating a slave boy for laziness; the sounds of the dispatch barge being loaded at dockside reached here, strangely amplified by still water and the mist-cloaked morning quiet.

Hokanu caught Mara's fingers and stroked them, and by the fact that they did not immediately respond knew she was not thinking of ordinary commerce.

'Is it the Assembly on your mind again?' he asked, knowing it was not, but also aware that an oblique approach would break the cold space around her thoughts and help her make a start at communicating.

Mara closed her grip on his hand. 'Your father's sister has two boys, and you have a second cousin with five children, three of them sons.'

Unsure where this opening was leading, but also catching her drift, Hokanu nodded. He reflexively followed up on her next thought. 'If something were to happen to Justin before your child was born, my father could choose among several cousins and relations to find a successor after me for the Shinzawai mantle. But you should not worry, love; I fully intend to stay alive and keep you safe.'

Mara frowned, more troubled than he had originally guessed. 'No. We've been through this. I will not see the Acoma name merged with that of the Shinzawai.'

Hokanu drew her close, aware now of what lay beneath her tenseness. 'You fear for the Acoma name, then I understand. Until our child is born, you are the last of your line.'

Her tenseness as she nodded betrayed the depths of a fear

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she had wrestled with and kept hidden for the intervening span of two years. And after all she had gone through to secure the continuance of her ancestors' line, only to suffer the further loss of her son, he could not fault her.

'Unlike your father, I have no remaining cousins, and no other option.' She sucked a quick breach, and plunged ahead to the heart of the matter.

'I want Justin sworn to the Acoma natami.'

'Mara!' Hokanu said, startled. 'Done is done! The boy is almost five years of age and sworn already to the Shinzawai!'

She looked stricken. Her eyes were- too large in her face, and her bones too prominent, the result of grief and morning sickness. 'Release him.'

There was an air of desperation about her, of determined hardness he had seen only in the presence of enemies; and gods knew, he was not an enemy. He stifled his initial shock, reached out, and again drew her against him. She was shaking, though her skin was not chilled. Patiently, carefully, he considered her position. He tried to unravel her motivations and achieve an understanding that would give him grounds to work with her; for he realised, for his father's sake, that he would be doing no one any favors by changing Justin's house loyalty - least of all the boy.

By now the child was old enough to begin to comprehend the significance of the name to which he belonged.

The death of an elder brother had fallen hard enough on the little one without his becoming the pawn of politi=cs.

Much as Hokanu loved Mara, he also recognised that Jiro's enmity was more threat than he would wish to place on the shoulders of an innocent child. '

The rapport shared between the Lady and her consort cut both ways; Mara also had the gift of tracking Hokanu's inner thoughts. She said, 'It is a lot more difficult to murder a boy who is able to walk, talk, and recognise strangers Machinations

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than an infant in a crib. As Shinzawai heir, our new baby would be safer. A house, a whole line, would not be ended by one death.'

Hokanu could not refute such logic; what cost him peace and prevented his agreement was his own affection for Justin, not mentioning that his foster father, Kamatsu, had come to dote on the boy. Did a man take a child old enough to have tasted the joys of life, and thrust him into grave danger? Or did one set an innocent infant at risk?

'If I die,' Mara said in a near whisper, 'there will be nothing. No child. No Acoma. My ancestors will lose their places on the Wheel of Life, and none will remain to hold Acoma honor in the eyes of the gods.' She did not add, as she might have, that all she had done for herself would have gone for nothing.

Her consort pushed himself upright against the pillows, drew her to lean against him, and combed back her dark hair. 'Lady, I will think on what you have said.'

Mara twisted, jerking free of his caress. Beautiful, determined, and angry, she sat up straight and faced him. 'You must not think. You must decide. Release Justin from his vows, for the Acoma must not go another day without an heir to come after me.'

There was an edge of hysteria to her. Hokanu read past that, to another worry, one she had not yet mentioned, that he had missed in the turmoil. 'You are feeling cornered because Arakasi has been so long at the task you set him,' he said on a note of inspiration.

The wind seemed to go out of Mara's sails. 'Yes. Perhaps I asked too much of him, or began a more perilous course than I knew when I sent him to attempt to infiltrate the affairs of the Assembly.' In a rare moment of self-doubt, she admitted, 'I was hotheaded, and angry. In truth, things have gone more smoothly than I first feared. We have handled the upsurge of the traditionalist offensive without the difficulty I anticipated.'

Hokanu heard, but was not deceived into belief that she considered the affair settled. If anything, the quiet times and the minor snarls that erupted in trade transactions were harbingers of something deeper afoot. Tsurani Lords were devious; the culture itself for thousands of years had applauded the ruler who could be subtle, who could effect convoluted, long-range plotting to stage a brilliant victory years later. All too likely, Lord Jiro was biding his time, amassing his preparations to strike. He was no Minwanabi, to solve his conflicts on the field of war. The Assembly's edict had effectively granted him unlimited time, and license to plot against the Acoma through intrigue, as was his penchant. ~

Neither Mara nor Hokanu chose to belabor this point, which both of them feared. An interval of quiet stretched between them, filled with the sounds of the estate beginning to wake. The light through the screen changed from grey to rose-gold, and birdsong filtered in over the call of officers overseeing the change in the guard - warriors who had not patrolled so near the estate house before Ayaki's death.

Unspoken also was the understanding that the Anasati might in fact have been the target of the faked evidence carried by the tong. Jiro-and the old-line traditionalists wished Mara dead, which made his enmity logical. Yet a third faction might be plotting unseen, to create this schism between the Acoma and Anasati alliance that had been sealed with Ayaki's life.

The attempt had been against Mara; had she died according to plan, her son would have inherited, as heir. Hokanu, in the vulnerable position of regent, would have been left to manage a sure clash between the Acoma, in an attempt to retain their independence as his Lady would have desired, and the Anasati, who would seek to annex that house on the strength of their blood tie to the boy.

But if the contract with the tong that had seen Ayaki killed had not been under Jiro's chop, all that had transpired since might be playing into the hands of some third party, perhaps the same Lord whose spy net had breached Arakasi's security.

'I think,' said Hokanu with gentle firmness, 'that we should not resolve this issue until we have heard from Arakasi, or one of his agents. If he has made headway in his attempt to gain insight into the Great Ones' council, his network will send word. No news is best news, for now.'

Looking pale and strained, and feeling chilled as well, Mara nodded. The discomforts of her pregnancy were shortly going to make conversation difficult, in any event.

She lay, limp in her husband's arms, while he snapped his fingers and called for her maids. It was part of his singular devotion that kept him at her side through her early hours of illness. When she offered protest that he surely had better things to do with his time, he only smiled.

The clock chimed. Mara pushed damp hair from her brow and sighed. She closed her eyes a moment, to ease the ongoing strain of reviewing the fine print of the trade factor's reports from Sulan-Qu. Yet her interval of rest lasted scarcely seconds.

A maid entered with a tray. Mara started slightly at the intrusion, then resigned herself to the interruption as the servant began laying out a light lunch on the small lap table beside the one she had left cluttered with unfinished business.

As the mistress's regard turned her way, the maid bowed, touching forehead to floor in obeisance very near to a slave's. As Mara suspected, the girl wore livery trimmed in blue, Shinzawai colors.

'My Lady, the master sent me to bring you lunch. He says you are too thin, and the baby won't have enough to grow on if you don't take time to eat.'

Mara rested a hand on her swollen middle. The boy child the midwives had promised her seemed to be developing just fine. If she herself looked peaked, impatience and nerves were the more likely cause rather than diet. This pregnancy wore at her, impatient as she was to be done with it, and to have the question of heirship resolved. She had not realised how much she had come to rely upon Hokanu's companionship until strain had been put upon it. Her wish to name Justin as Acoma heir had exacted a high cost, and she longed for the birth of the child, that the altercation with Hokanu could be set behind them both.

But the months until her due date seemed to stretch into infinity. Reflective, Mara stared out the window, where the akasi vines were in bloom and slaves were busy with shears trimming them back from the walk. The heavy perfume reminded her of another study, on her old estate, and a day in the past when a red-haired barbarian slave had upset her concept of Tsurani culture. Now, Hokanu was the only man in the Empire who seemed to share her progressive dreams and ideas. It was hard to speak to him, lately, without the issue of progeny coming between.

The maid slipped out unobtrusively. Mara regarded the tray of fruit, bread, and cold cheeses with little enthusiasm.

Still, she forced herself to fill up a plate and eat, however tasteless the food seemed on her tongue. Past experience had taught her that Hokanu would come by to check on her, and she did not wish to face the imploring tenderness in his eyes if she followed her inclinations and left the meal untouched.

The report that had occupied her was far more serious than it appeared at first glance. A warehouse by the river had burned, causing damage to the surplus hides held off the spring market. The prices had not been up to standard this season, and rather than sell leather at such slight profit, Jican had consigned them for later delivery to the sandalmaker's. Mara frowned. She set her barely touched plate aside, out of habit. Although it was no secret that, of all the houses in the Empire, hers was the only one to provide sandals for its bearer slaves and field hands, until now the subject only made her the butt of social small talk. Old-line traditionalist Lords laughed loudly and long, and claimed her slaves ran her household; one particularly cantankerous senior priest in the temple service of Chochocan, the Good God, had sent her a tart missive cautioning her that treating slaves too kindly was an offense against divine will. Make their lives too easy, the priest had warned, and their penance for earning heaven's disfavor would not be served. They might be returned on the Wheel of Life as a rodent or other lowly beast, to make up for their lack of suffering in this present life. Saving the feet of slaves from cuts and sores was surely a detriment to their eternal spirits.

Mara had returned a missive of placating banalities to the disaffected priest, and gone right on supplying sandals.

But the current report, with her factor's signature and impression of the battered chop used on, the weekly inventories, was another matter. For the first time an enemy faction had sought to exploit her kind foible to the detriment of House Acoma. The damaged hides would be followed, she was sure, with a sudden, untraceable rumor in the slaves' barracks that she had covertly arranged the fire as an excuse to spare the cost of the extra sandals.

Since possession of footwear gave not only comfort, but also considerable status to the slaves in Acoma service, in the eyes of their counterparts belonging to other houses, the privilege was fiercely coveted. Though no Tsurani slave would ever consider rebellion, as disobedience to master or mistress was against the will of the gods, even the thought that their yearly allotment of sandals might be revoked would cause resentment that would not show on the surface but would result in sloppy field work, or tasks that somehow went awry. The impact on Acoma fortunes would be subtle, but tangible. The sabotage to the warehouse could become an insidiously clever ploy, because in order to rectify the shortage of leathers, Mara might draw the attention of more than just an old fanatic in the temple likely to write a protest to her. It could be seen in certain quarters that she was vulnerable, and temples that were previously friendly to her could suddenly become 'neutral'

to a point just short of hostility.

She could ill afford difficulties from the priesthood at this time, not with the Emperor's enemies and her own allied in common cause to ruin her.

The lunch tray remained neglected as she took up dean paper and pen and drew up an authorisation for the factor in Sulan-Qu to purchase new hides to be shipped to the sandalmaker's. Then she sent her runner slave to fetch Jican, who in turn was ordered to place servants and overseers on the alert for rumors, that the question of footwear for the slaves might never become an issue. ~

By the time the matter was resolved, the fruit sat in a puddle of juices, and the cheeses-had warmed on the plate in the humid midafternoon air. Involved with the next report in the file, this one dealing with a trade transaction designed to inconvenience the Anasati, Mara heard footsteps at the screen.

'I am finished with the lunch tray,' she murmured without looking up.

Presuming the servant would carry out the remains of her meal with the usual silent solicitude, she held her mind on its present track. But however many caravans were robbed, however many Anasati hwaet fields burned, no matter how many stacks of cloth goods were diverted on their way to market, or ships were sent to the wrong port, Mara found little satisfaction. Her heartache did not lessen. She gripped the parchments harder, searching the penned lines for some way to make her enemy feel her hatred in the place that would hurt the most.

Hands reached over her shoulder, pulled the report from her grip, and gently massaged her neck, which had grown sore from too little movement. 'The cooks will be asking to commit suicide by the blade when they see how little you cared for their lunch tray, my Lady,' Hokanu said in her ear. He followed the admonition with a kiss on the crown of her head, and waited while Mara reddened with embarrassment at mistaking him for a servant.

She went on to ruefully regard the uneaten meal. 'Forgive me. I became so involved that I forgot.' With a sigh, she fumed in her husband's embrace and kissed him back.

'What was it this time, more mildew in the thyza sacks?'

he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

Mara rubbed her aching forehead. 'No. The hides for the sandalmaker's. We'll purchase replacements.'

Hokanu nodded, one of the few men in the Empire who would not have argued that sandals for slaves were a waste of good funds. Aware how lucky she was to have such a husband, Mara resumed his embrace and heroically reached for the food tray.

Her husband caught her wrist with a firmness beyond argument. 'That meal is spoiled. We'll have the servants bring a fresh tray, and I'll stay and share it with you. We've spent too little time together lately.'

He moved around her cushion, his swordsman's grace as always lending beauty to what Mara knew were a lethal set of reflexes. Hokanu wore a loose silk robe, belted with linked shells and a buckle inlaid with lapis lazali. His hair was damp, which meant he had come in from the bath he customarily took after working out with his officers.

'You might not be hungry, but I could eat a harulth. Lujan and Kemutali decided to test whether fatherhood had made me complacent.'

Mara returned a faint smile. 'They are both soaking bruises?' she asked hopefully.

Hokanu's reply was rueful. 'So was I, until a few minutes ago.'

'And are you complacent?' Mara pressed.

'(gods, no,' Hokanu laughed. 'Never in this house. Justin ambushed me twice on the way to my bath, and once again when I got out.' Then, unwilling to dwell on the subject of the son that had become a bone of contention between them, he hurried to ask what kept the frown line between her eyes so prevalent. 'Unless you're scowling to test my complacency also,' he ended.

Mara was surprised into a laugh. 'No. I know how lightly you sleep, dear heart. I'll know you're getting complacent on the night you stop starting up and tossing pillows and bedclothes at the slightest hint of a strange noise.'

Happy to see even a moment of mirth from her, Hokanu clapped for a servant to attend to the spoiled lunch tray, and to send to the kitchen for a fresh one. By the time he had disposed of even so brief a detail, he looked back at Mara and, by the faraway look in her eyes, knew he had lost her to contemplation. Her hands had gone tense in her lap, interlocked in the habitual way she assumed when thinking upon the task she had laid for her Spy Master.

His hunch was confirmed presently when she said, 'I wonder how far Arakasi has gotten in his attempt to infiltrate the City of the Magicians.'

'We shall not discuss the question until after you have eaten,' Hokanu said in mock threat. 'If you starve yourself anymore, there will be nothing left to you but an enormous belly.'

'Filled with your son and future heir!' Mara retorted, equally playful, but not at all her unusually perceptive self, by her reference to a sensitive topic.

Hokanu let the reference pass, in favor of keeping her peaceful enough to enjoy the fruits and light breads and meats he had sent for. On second thought, Arakasi's attempt upon the security of the Assembly of Magicians was probably the safer choice of conversation.

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