Desio glared at Incomo as if expecting agreement, but the First Adviser held up a placating hand. ‘In all this, there is some good emerging, my Lord.’ With a faint smile, he offered another parchment.
The Lord’s expression grew thunderous as he saw the proffered scroll bore the personal crest of Bruli of the Kehotara. Desio refused to look at the document. ‘Bruli has been whining for our patronage for years now, but he lost my father’s good will, and mine, when he refused to swear as vassal upon his father’s death – he wants the benefits of Minwanabi protection without being under our rule.’ Frustrated further by suspicions that Mara might somehow be behind House Kehotara’s truculence, Desio flopped back on his cushions. ‘Another request for alliance should be refused.’ Then Desio sighed. ‘But right now we can use all the friends we can manage. What does the weakfish say?’
Dryly Incomo said, ‘I suggest my Lord read the message.’
The parchment changed hands. Stillness fell, marred by the creak of armour as the slave who bore the Lord’s gloves and helm shifted his burden from one tired arm to the other. Desio laboriously scanned the closing lines, and his eyes widened with pleasure. ‘Is Bruli’s observation reliable?’
Incomo tapped his cheek with a finger. ‘Who can ever be certain? I read into this situation as you might, my Lord, that sundry factions in Mara’s clan fear her sudden rise. Should she gain much more honour and wealth, she’ll certainly come to dominate Clan Hadania. No other house is more powerful now, if the truth were known; only divided loyalties prevent Mara from dictating clan policy. That, however, could change. These worthy lords who have presumed to contact Bruli of the Kehotara are careful to let us know they do not see their own fortunes necessarily tied to those of House Acoma.’
Desio sat forward, elbows rested on his knees. He pondered, realized he was thirsty, and waved for his slave to carry his armour off and fetch refreshments. ‘We can thank the gods for small favours. Still, better Clan Hadama’s families remain neutral than join their ranks against us.’
Incomo said, ‘I think my Lord has missed the other implication.’
Matured by his power, and less intolerant of correction, Desio returned a penetrating gaze. Plainly his First Adviser had best be concise if he wished to escape his Lord’s ire. ‘What implication?’
‘Our agents have progressed in their work to infiltrate Mara’s spy network.’ Fired by acerbic enthusiasm, Incomo spread his bony palms. ‘We have isolated still another Acoma agent; nearly all their contacts have been traced, their couriers identified. Occasional plants of useful information have kept those lines open. At need, we can manipulate these Acoma dogs to our advantage.’
A strange look passed over Desio’s face, and a head shake prevented his Adviser from disturbing thoughts not yet formed as he stretched to grip a notion that tantalized his mind. When the servant returned with the refreshment tray, the Lord had lost his appetite, ‘I must think on something. Have my bath prepared. I stink like a needra pen.’
Incomo bowed. ‘Which girls does my master wish to attend his comforts?’
Desio silenced his Adviser with a raised palm. ‘No. I need to think. Just the bath attendant. No women. No musicians. A large mug of spiced juice will do nicely. I must have quiet for contemplation.’
Intrigued by this sudden turn toward asceticism, Incomo stepped from the dais to carry out instructions. At the door, he stopped on an afterthought. ‘Any new orders for Tasaio, my Lord?’
Fury smouldered under Desio’s hooded eyes. ‘Yes, my brilliant strategist. After four years of squandering our resources on his masterful plan in Tsubar, he must be tired. Let us see that he’s given a post that will not tax his depleted energies. We still command that fortress at Outpost Isles; send him there. Let him protect our westernmost holdings from the sea birds and fish.’
Incomo lowered his rounded shoulders into a bow, then left his master brooding and continued down a stone corridor that cut into the hill upon which the estate house rested. The cool passage was lit at long intervals with torches. Sheltered from view by thick shadow, the Minwanabi First Adviser let his frustration show. His pace turned brisk, and his robe of office flapped around thin ankles. A pity that Desio’s wits had not developed to match his resolve. For if Tasaio’s failure was dramatic, no plot in the Game could ever be guaranteed. If there had been fault with the plan, it was simply that no provision had been made to allow for failure.